campaigning
by daphne-peneia
Summary: Rory has to deal with an unwanted assignment as election campaign reporter. Political prodigy Tristan with the hardships of a Senate race. And both with each other. FutureFic.
1. Default Chapter

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB and great Amy Sherman-Palladino.

**summary**: Rory has to deal with an unwanted assignment as election campaign reporter. Political prodigy Tristan with the hardships of a Senate race. And both with each other.

hi, English isn't my first language. I had it in school for quite a long time, but sadly enough I neglected it nonexcusable over the last years. So please tell me if my grammar is hideous, the story too stiff - in a word if reading is painful. :)

**genre**: basically it's a lovestory with some of the invitable angst in it, but since GGs sense of humour was the one thing that made me addicted to it: it's fun too - at least I tried, cause I came to the conclusion that writing in a foreign language isn't excactly a thing supportive to wit.

The stuff concerning the Senate elections I looked up in the internet. Hopefully I find time to read a book on the American political system in order not to make a complete fool out of me.

enough excuses - hope you enjoy it!

p.s.: „.." are the european signs for direct speach. '...' are the characters thoughts - hope it's not too confusing.

„Rory. Could it be that some roommate of mine surreptiously sneaked out in the middle of the night, bribed the newspaper guy, kidnapped the _Times_ the third day in a row and deliberately crushed my morning routine - again?"

„Good morning to you too, Paris" Rory crossed the kitchen of their appartment, poured herself a cup of coffee, sat down next to her friend and delved her head into her hands.

„You look like crap"

„Well thanks"

„It could spare us a lot of interpersonal hardship if you would finally admit your passion for _Le Figaro_ and leave the _Times_ alone. Living in denial is unhealthy, you know."

„Who am I to dissent the expert."

„Don't dare to distract from the point, Missy"

„You know what the point is? I don't need the _Figaro_ which kind of unsettles me, which kind of make me go crazy during ungodly hours, which deprives me of my well deserved sleep, which forces me to read the society columns of the _Times_."

„It's pretty disturbing that every time I have the impression that I got a comprehensive picture of your peculiarities, you manage to become even more whimsical. What are you talking about?"

„How often did they send me to Europe last year?"

„Spain in December - I personally didn't like that piece you wrote there, too many numbers." Paris looked as if she was totally wrapped up in a chain of thoughts. „Don't get me wrong. I appreciate numbers. Exact sciences - the pillar of perception. I always had been a Descartes-kind of girl. Not an easy fate though, especially when you are 18 and not only supposed to polish your fingernails pink, but to be all into Sartre too. God I hated this guy."

„It may be hard for you to accept, but there _is_ as realm of reality. The cosy place where normal people tend to live, Gellar." Rory took a sip from the mug before clicking her fingers in front of Paris nose.

„Thank god you never contemplated to be a shrink. Anyhow. Great Britain in April, the G8 conference May - where had that been? Malmoe? Lausanne? Some creepy little town. And wait ... Milano five weeks ago." Triumph was written in her face.

„Gosh. Considering the fact that this was a rhetoric question you did pretty well. But Italy was my birthday present from grandma and Great Britain I did on my own to do some research for the PhD, which leaves two trips in 10 months. I might be their foreign correspondent but somehow they decided that _being_ actually in a foreign country is a negligible variable in the whole concept."

„All the more you depend on the written word. Stop whining and read some French. It'll do you good."

„Thank god you never contemplated to be a shrink." Rory grinned and shoved a slice of Sookies carrot-cake into the toaster.

„Did you know that Marianna Elija-Gutenberg-Hearst got finally divorced from Mr. Hearst, husband number four in order to make her secret affection with Panshee Singh - member of the Bollywood Olympus - finally public? Engagement party is on the 21st, at Astoria's, evening gown recommended. Bless the _Times_, medium of public education."

„Knew that" Paris uttered. „My mother and Miss Singh to-be share a pilati instructor" she added, answering Rory's dumbfounded glance.

---------------

The bureau of the _Conneticut Examiner_ was an old depository warehouse adapted for its porpose by the combined efforts of a young team of fancy architects and the new owner Mr. VanDelfts generous capital expenditures. Rory had liked it better before the big reinvention, the way it had looked when she had applied for temporary help while she was still in Yale. Scruffy filing cabinets, a few old Macintoshs probably worth a sum at least in the eyes of some nostalgic computer geeks, tons of paperwork on the desks. They even had an fan flipping slowly during the summer months. It was the ideal version of a young reporters dream-place to be. Now it was Zara Hadid all over.

„He's in his office. Arrived one hour ago. Seen Mendez, Davenport and Guiliati so far. None of them looked especially happy after it, but on the other hand, none of them had the ‚suicide-is-an-option' grimace written in the face. I think he has a good day."

„Thanks Lucy. Ever considered to be a shrink?" Rory took the mail the young secretary handed her. „I'll see what he is up to. Wish me luck."

„What a glorious occurrence. Not even 10 o'clock and Miss Foreign affairs decided to show up. You really go for the Pulitzer, aren't you? Come in." Morty Sellinger waved her to his desk.

„Take a seat. Take some tea. Take some whiskey. You won't get coffee within these holy walls as long as I live. Coffee makes every decent reporter forget the names of their sources, use far too many adjectives and loose the focus of the story." she knew his words by heart and always moved her lips silently to them.

„Do you do your sermon with this utter accuracy because it gives you the flair of some prophet, stepped out of the Old Testament to lead a newspaper?"

„As much as I love this little editor-writer chit-chat in which we are entangled, there are things to do. I have a story for you. No, let me rephrase it. I have a mission modelled for only one purpose - to fit your extraordinary abilities."

That was not good. Despite the forenoon sun shining through the Venetian blinds Rory was tempted to fill her glass with the brown liquid on the silvery tray Morty had pushed near her position. Every time he sounded like a generous grandfather something really bad was to come.

„In spite of the fact that your mind is constantly occupied to roam somewhere abroad it couldn't escaped your attention that Senate elections for 23 states are at hand, one of them being Connecticut. The executive board of the _Examiner_ decided on extensive coverage. Let's face the fact - politics lost all the sex JFK had so painstrikingly struggled to establish as a surplus that comes with it. Voter turnouts are constantly low, people are more interested in J.Lo's sign than in the future of their health care system."

„The day you turned into the consciousness of the nation appears to have escaped my notice. I should really come here more often. It's not common that a girl can witness conversions from the front row, especially in times like these. May I call you Paulus, Saulus?"

„Hold it. Can't an old man contemplate ethics here and there? Anyway. MacMahon tours the country with his cavalry. And we're gonna join him. He decided to run for Senate just 4 month ago, so he's kind of an unwritten story. Mystery man coming up to mess with the old political establishment. The _Examiner_ is going to be on the streets with him. Behind the curtain-stuff basically. Bringing excitement back to politics."

„And how do I fit in this pretty little picture? Mendez does the internal affairs. He knows every press spokesman in this damn state, he has his spooky bureaucrats in every office who tip him with information._ Myself_ on the other hand can easily recall 300 years of Dutch history, name 12 of the 14 accredited parties in former Yugoslavia, but I'm the wrong person for pathetic little articles about Mister MacMahons heart melting visit in the children's surgical ward of St. Anne's."

„Mendez wife is pregnant, her due date is in two weeks. He can't go on a three months trail through Connecticut."

„A three month trail through Connecticut?" Rorys voice was on the brink of shouting.

„That's not the Iraq war. You don't need an embedded reporter on the spot to come up with a few 2000 word pieces."

„Kiddo, let me expound the whole scope of this engagement. We are talking about a column every second day. Front page. Black and white photograph of your pretty face. When the elections are over I doubt that anybody from Heartfort to Bridgeport wouldn't be able to recognise you on the streets."

„What a pleasant vision. You the hell know how to underline your endeavour to persuade me. I propose you stay quiet or I'm out." She was mocking, but he saw her senses rise. She already gave his proposal a second thought.

Morty leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. He knew he got her. She was an ambitious young lady and if it took her to accept this job to prove the world that she has very special skills she'll do it. Morty regarded her as the raw diamond he had discovered. She was 25 years old, but yet one of his best employees. It never crossed his mind that Rory wouldn't be able to deliver great articles no matter what the topic was. He knew if she took his offer she'll be gone in 4 months. The really big fishes will stand in a row to poach her.

„I'm in."

„What a surprise. Lucy has some files for you to read and a meeting with Catherine Drewden, MacMahons press lady, is settled for you in 30 minutes. You better hurry."

„Morty?" Rory nervously chewed on her bottom lip.

„No chance, you don't get a salary increase."

„Did you asked me because Davenport and Guiliati refused?" she spilled out. Sometimes he wondered how someone so innocent could write so profoundly.

„You were the first on the line" he replied truthfully.

Rory bended forward, poured herself reluctantly some tea and upraised the steaming cup.

„Let's hope I don't regret it."

„You won't, kiddo. You won't."


	2. chapter 2

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB and great Amy Sherman-Palladino.

hi, English isn't my first language. I had it in school for quite a long time, but sadly enough I neglected it nonexcusable over the last years. So please tell me if my grammar is hideous, the story too stiff - in a word if reading is painful. :)

**rating**: I made it a PG-13 quite randomly. I guess at the moment its PG and it will be for a while. I haven't yet found out if its possible to change the rating ex post, but maybe it's going up to R. I'm just not sure right now.

**genre**: basically it's a love story with some of the inevitable angst in it, but since GGs sense of humour was the one thing that made me addicted to it: it's fun too - at least I tried, cause I came to the conclusion that writing in a foreign language isn't exactly a thing supportive to wit.

The stuff concerning the Senate elections I looked up in the Internet. Hopefully I find time to read a book on the American political system in order not to make a complete fool out of me.

enough excuses - hope you enjoy it!

p.s.: „.." are the German signs for direct speech. '...' enclose the characters thoughts - hope it's not too confusing.

**Chapter 2**

Rory hastily checked the time as she was heading through the entrance door of a 20 storey building downtown that emitted the charm of a shoe carton. She was early - as usual. The hall was crowded with people, every one of them awfully busy-looking. It took her some seconds to orientate till she found the impressive reception desk.

„Rory Gilmore, _Connecticut Examiner_. I have an appointment at 11.30 with Catherine Drewden."

The young blonde girl behind the counter took a quick look down at the screen in front of her and returned Rorys smile professionally. „Second floor, room 201, she'll be there in a minute."

Rory didn't bother to take the elevator. The fact, that people could purposely mess around with sports - in whatsoever disguise it may perfidiously present itself - could only make her believe in the reasonability of mankind recede a little bit more. Long ago she had decided that preferring the stairs to the elevator was the only concession she was willing to make in order to increase her chances to reach the age of 90. But age was overestimated anyway.

Room 201 took over nearly half of the floor. The moment she entered she felt embedded in some weird sort of sound installation. Telephones ringing, hectic keystrokes, soft-spoken conversations, the beeping of incoming faxes and e-mails. Every now and then someone was shouting sentence fragments from one corner to the other which appeared to be the political equivalent to thieves argot. She made out about 20 workplaces, everything looked improvised, half opened boxes of campaigning equipment leaning against the walls, technical gear shattered over some of the desks, even the sign on the door which was in a constantly state of swinging back and forth with people entering and leaving was still handwritten. A tense atmosphere filled the room, the mixture of stress, energy and anticipation. Rory liked it.

„Miss can I help you?"

The boy could not be older than 15. He was wearing the inevitable button on his sweater saying ‚McMahon for Senate 2008' in white letters on dark blue ground.

„I was told to wait here for Ms. Drewden. Don't worry, I'll just take a seat right here." He was glancing nervously up to her not sure if he was entitled to deal with this sort of situation.

Rory gave him the best toothbrush-smile she could manage. The poor boy was without doubt in need of some kind of distraction. How cruel must one be to lock him up in this very un-teenage like surrounding.

She crossed her legs and leaned forward, her face suddenly a mask of secrecy.

„Look what a coincidence. Quite a huge rhododendron you have right here beside you. That will make it so much easier for me to fulfil my assignment. Go on with your work. I just drop the bug and be out of here in a matter of seconds. You wouldn't tell anybody, would you?" It was a good impersonation. The right amount of played casualty mixed with a spark of female-bondish seductiveness.

The boys chin dropped and he stared at her with utter horror written in his face.

Damn. Her new teenage friend wasn't that eager to kid around and now she looked like a women who took her pleasure in tantalizing innocent youngsters.

The day had been strange so far. One of these days you should have decided to stay in bed because you knew it better. She missed Stars Hollow and her mom, she missed the craziness and for some reason she thought that this is a place that hosted and appreciated craziness. But maybe starting with this kid wasn't exactly her best idea.

The rescue came in form of a tall dark haired stranger about the age of 30 wearing a brown cord jacket, jeans and a broad smile.

„A bug huh? So you must be one of the few people who doubt the holy law that history repeats itself first as a tragedy and than as a farce?"

„But since the hole Watergate thing was definitely a farce back in the 70ties, I thought that _maybe_ it would work this time." Rory replied light-heartedly.

„In consideration of the fact that you seem to be a more than intelligent young women it couldn't possibly be our contestant who sent you on your life endangering mission. He rather prefers to surround himself with mediocre existences. So its the press than?"

„That obviously?"

„Maybe you should have disguised yourself with one of them" pointing at the button on his collar „but I'm inclined to doubt that it really would have helped you. I smell printing ink a mile wide. Call it a gift."

'The day might take a turn to the better at last' she thought.

„Ben Weinstein by the way" she took his hand and shook it delightedly.

„Rory Gilmore, Connecticut Examiner, but I guess if I had given you a few more minutes you would have smelled that too"

„Probably" he stated.

„Look, I'm sorry, I have to go. Third strategy meeting today" he shrugged his shoulders in awe. „See the separated area over there? Take a seat. If you're press you are probably here to see Catherine, but Catherine has the astounding ability to be everywhere and nowhere at the same time which leads to the irritating consequence that ‚appointment' is a word unknown to her vocabulary. She _might_ be late a few minutes. But never mind, there is a couch and if I'm not mistaken, some extremely revealing drafts of campaigning ads in the purple folder" he winked at her and left.

Rory started to head in the direction he had pointed out, but turned around to the boy who was still standing there looking even more confused than before.

„You should really drink more coffee, that helps. Trust me. Decades of practise"

The cabin was small, hardly enough space to contain two leather couches, a huge flat TV and a round conference table. She leaned back and stretched her feet. It was not yet noon and she was already exhausted. 'What I need is a break not an assignment as a roady on a two months tour with some sort of political circus.'

Another glance around the room didn't make it more interesting. The TV was on, CNN airing, but someone has turned off the volume.

Suddenly she remembered herself as a small girl of about 10. The future was a misty land to her, but the one thing she envisioned clearly was herself wearing an expensive suite and pearl earrings challenging the camera with her look as the insert of her name appeared at the screen. Now she wouldn't trade being a newspaper reporter for anything else. She knew that this was what she wanted to do for rest of her life. Since she set foot into the bureau of the _Franklin_, since her first article ever - that pathetic piece about the renewal of Chilton's forecourt - since her fights with Paris over the days headline she was in love with it.

Rory looked at her watch once more. 11.30 sharp. If her new acquaintance was right - and she didn't doubt that for a second - she'll be alone in here for a couple of minutes more. Digging in the depths of her huge black vintage bag she finally fetched a book and took a quick glance at the cover to make sure which one of the two she always carried with her it was.

‚Political Identities in the Age of Revolution. Oxford University Press' a quick sigh escaped her mouth as she threw it back into its temporary but nonetheless very messy bag-grave. That was absolutely not the thing she needed right now.

„Well that's better" she murmured as she flipped the other one open. 'Let's pretend we don't know what Heathcliff is going to do.'

The couch felt nearly as cosy as the one back home in Stars Hollow even though the cushions were lacking. She relaxed and was caught in the twisted world of Victorian England instantly.

She didn't notice that the door was opened. She didn't notice that the person, who came in had his gaze fixed on a black clipboard, shuffling pages back and forth as if he was looking for something.

„Sorry for any inconveniences we have caused you. Catherine is still with the candidate, but Ben was considerate enough to send replacement. I'll be your substitute for ... let's be realistic ... at least half an hour" he smiled, but the smile was lost given that Rorys eyes were still on the page in front of her. ‚Nothing could possibly be urgent enough to make you stop reading in midsentence' Rule No. 4 of Rory Gilmores Ten Commandments and definitely one of the more sanest. Even if her mother would deny that.

The deep male voice that intruded the highmore encounter with her favourite 19th century manor resident seemed vaguely familiar to her. It was a pleasant voice although at the moment there was an exhausted undertone in it. Thoroughly she put a bookmark between the pages before looking up.

The man finally decided that whatever he was searching for was not laid down in one of the hardcopies in his hand and faced the reporter that had turned Ben into such a grinning happy-looking idiot.

Time froze for a minute.

Tristan recognized her at once. She didn't look much older. Did she look more matured? More self-confident? Even more dazzling than in highschool? He couldn't tell. Of course she had changed, but there was still the fresh air of girlish daringness surrounding her. When was the last time he had been speechless? He couldn't tell.

Rory sitting in front of him, the book still in her lap, her lips slightly parted, her expression undefinable was the strangest thing that had happened to him in a long time. What was he feeling? He couldn't tell.

The silk grey turtleneck she wore fitted her slender forms perfectly. Her hands lay calm on the thick rough-textured fabric of her skirt as if she was posing for some sort of portrait. Obviously she had become the woman she always wanted to be. Well known newspaper, prestigious articles but for all that cherishing the differentness with her minimal-makeup, her worn out bag, her 'if I wanted to, I could be junior professor at Columbia'-looks. He never had a doubt about that.

What should he do? Closing the distance between them and giving her the friendly hug an old school friend deserves? Pretending that he has forgotten who she was a long time ago? He couldn't tell.

Rory was the first who regained her basic language abilities.

„DuGrey." she stated matter of factly.

„Mary" He thought that it would come easily over his lips, but he was wrong. He had to force himself. And the result didn't sound as cheering as he intended.

For some reason she felt relieved that he didn't bother to call her Rory. As if he returned something she had lost. She decided to repay.

„Politics, I see. Did your parents made up their mind that this is the place you could serve the family fortune most? Thank god that you are equipped with the perfect kind of character."

It was an unpleasant kind of deja-vu. How was it possible that she stepped into his life again and still holds the ability to hurt him so easily. She didn't even notice, she never had.

'You couldn't be more wrong.' Did he say it aloud? No. He wanted to explain himself, he wanted her to look at him with understanding, not with contempt. Suddenly he felt like 16 again and hated it. Slowly his anger grew.

„Is it the age that turned you into a cynical, Gilmore? Or are you just unsatisfied? I guess it's the second one - if I remember you right." The words were cold and incidental.

„There is a well known difference between irony and cynicism. If you're lacking the ability to distinguish here - your folks may have picked the wrong job for you after all."

It wasn't the fact that they started their banter as if no day had passed since their time at Chilton that overwhelmed Tristan. It was the fact that this was different. Something went terribly wrong. The atmosphere was thick with suppressed rage. He had no idea were all these emotions did come from and he was certainly not inclined to find out.

They stared at each other, neither of them tried to ease the situation, both of them were totally caught up in its absurdity.

'I haven't seen him in 7 years, I barely knew him. What the hell happened?' Rory was strucked by the irrationality of her actions. She had always considered herself a nice person. Why did the few lines she had mastered to spill out sound so cruel? Why hadn't she just said "Tristan, oh my gosh you look pretty serious. Remember me? Chilton? What brought you here?" But no, she had to go berserk and lose her temper. Granted - he had been a cocky jerk in school. YEARS ago. Teenagers tend to act strange, everybody knows that. It wasn't that he had broken her heart.

She didn't want to think about this right now. What she wanted was a coffee. And this day to end soon.

„Rory" Tristan cleared his throat and pressed absentmindedly two fingers against his nasal bone. His mind was empty. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't think of anything to say. _This_ should not have taken place. He always knew what to say.

It was the moment Christina chose to finally show up.

„My dear, I feel terribly guilty for having abandoned you for so long." She stormed in Rorys direction, loose strays of hair whipping with every confident step she made. „But I couldn't be more glad for having you here by us."

Apparently she was too wrapped up in orchestrating her arrival to sense the tenseness between the two.

„Ahh, you already found yourself a pleasant company. Isn't he a charming one? The best we can offer at the moment." Her head affectionately turned into Tristans direction.

Rory nodded slowly, rose and was all the polite girl she used to be. From the corner of her eye she noticed Tristan turning around.

„If you excuse me, Catherine, Miss Gilmore." he muttered and was gone.

TBC….

And please review – I couldn't imagine a thing that would make me happier – maybe a plane ticket to Paris ;-)


	3. chapter 3

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB…

please review – it really helps me a lot coming to terms with this foreign-language-thing ;)

**chapter 3**

The meeting lasted not more than 20 minutes. Catherine was a kind middle-aged woman, full of energy and refreshingly direct. Under normal circumstances Rory would have loved to discuss her articles, planned the upcoming three months, and get intel about the people working here. She tried hard to conceal her confusion, but decided finally to give up.

„Miss Drewden, I'm sorry, I have to go. Its the last day my boss is in town and there are still some things that need to be cleared. It was a pleasure. I look forward to be part of this."

'What can I do to appear even more unprofessional?'

She was out of there in mere seconds not giving a second thought about Catharine who looked slightly puzzled.

The warm early autumn wind was a welcomed relieve. She leaned her back against the concrete wall of the building and scanned the street for a quiet place to eat. Four blocks down she spotted a tiny restaurant. ‚Chat noire' was written in golden letters with the patina of ages on red wooden panels, the windows were dark and small circular marble tables gathered in front of it. It didn't belong in this fancy neighbourhood. The place almost looked as if it was one of the many small cafes on the rive gauche she used to spend hours and hours reading and observing strangers. She sighed and wished she could just go away. Her French was fluent and being in another town, another country has always made her more venturous, made her feel free.

„It's my favourite."

Rory opened her eyes she had temporarily closed as her thoughts had carried her away once again and saw Ben standing next to her.

„Ben. If your meetings are always that short, there may eventually be a chance that you guys win the race." she smiled.

„I saw you contemplating about our favourite pub before you slipped into another state of consciousness. It would be a pleasure if you'd join me for whatever you hard working reporters have for lunch." he looked at her animatedly, sensing her hesitation.

„I had a rough day so far. Wouldn't be the most worthwhile company."

„That's a thing to be proven. Furthermore Catherine couldn't possibly fill you in with all the information you need to produce a really remarkable piece. I would offer you nearly unlimited access to all the ominous stories about this nasty campaign that need to be told to the public."

He seemed to be a nice guy - witty, handsome and easygoing. It couldn't be a mistake getting acquainted to the persons she was going to spend her next weeks with. Rory gave in.

„You know how to coax. I expect not less than dirty laundry at its best."

They decided to sit outside. Rory took off her coat and relaxed. The sun felt good on her skin, temperatures being unusually high for this time of the year.

„So, what sort of story are you writing? Hard facts of our unique agenda? A reportage on industrialized hustings in present day America? Giving it an emotional twist or are you going for the objective kind of thing? I have to know that in order to provide you with the appropriate gossip."

„In the strict sense it would be _stories_" she stressed the plural with played bitterness. „They made me the official chaperon of this race, day to day coverage. Practically I'm supposed to perform my investigative skills 24/7. Every skeleton in every closet will present itself in due time. You don't need to compromise yourself with telling me _all_ the interesting stuff right now. Moreover that wouldn't be much fun, would it?"

„Thanks for saving my job" he raised his glass of mineral water.

„What _is_ your job?"

„Consultant for economic affairs. Wrote some parts of the programme, feed the candidate with issues, keywords, and statements that are easy to communicate without the demerit of being false." he shrugged his shoulders. „Somehow my insistence on naming my position properly was not given the alertness it deserves." He shuffled slightly in his seat.

"After thoroughly rethinking what I just said I would like to put it this way: When I'm not wasting my time with politics and enjoy the astronomical high payment that comes with that, I teach national economy at the NYU"

Rory followed his speech attentively, but remained quiet. The food was excellent, she couldn't remember the last time she actually ate something which was not either pizza or some other take-away junk. It put her into listening mood.

„So, what are you doing on your date?" Ben asked suddenly.

„Excuse me?"

„Your date with Tristan DuGrey. What have you decided to do?" his tone was casual, but obviously he cared.

„Pardon me if I'm slightly puzzled. There must be some weird kind of misconception."

„I'm sorry. I thought he had shown up to bridge the time till Catherine was available. I've sent him to you."

„You've sent him to ask me out?" Rory put her folk down on the plate and looked uncomprehending at the likewise confused man opposite the table.

„No. I've sent him to help you, but statistics confirm the 95 percent chance that this would lead to the inevitably outcome of you having dinner with him." the acridness was now badly hidden.

„You know Ben, it's not wise to insult the reporter who has her share in the public opinion about ones party right at the beginning." his nervousness was rising with every word she said.

„Please - don't be mad at me. It should have been funny. It wasn't. I wanted to..."

„You wanted to warn me about Mr. DuGrey in a very subtle attempt?" she smiled warmly sensing his devastation, signalling the acceptance of his apology.

„No, not at all. I'm at my best with recently heartbroken women." evidently he had recovered quickly and was intent to end the awkward moment.

„Here sits the living proof that even statistics can fail. I know Tristan, we've been in highschool together and we were not exactly what's called friends. It's a twisted kind of history. A short history to be specific. I assume neither one of us is eager to spend more time in each others company than necessary."

„You don't like him?" Rory asked after a short pause.

„I respect him."

„What exactly does he do?"

„You mean besides sleeping with the female representatives of the press to obtain favourable commendatorship and the staff members to ensure a laid-back working environment? He became First Assistant District Attorney last December- youngest since 1917, stellar career so far. The day McMahon announced that he'll run for Senate he was one of the first who joined the ranks. Wrote some speeches, but basically he's the candidates alter ego, wherever he goes, Tristan is there. He looks good on TV, people are nuts about him, strangely enough. If McMahon wins he'll be Attorney General within the next 5 years, but I guess sooner or later he decides to go for it and become Senator himself or Congressman or President or whatever."

„How does it sound if you _don't_ respect people?

„Don't get me wrong. He's gifted, but since you had the pleasure of his acquaintance a long time ago, I figured out the damage is already done."

„That's probably right." Talking about Tristan made her feel awkward. She shouldn't have asked and let this particular strain of conversation die sooner. "Let's change the subject. What's the next hop on your tour?"

--------------

Rory indulged herself a cab home and found Paris sitting on the very spot she had left her five hours ago, still wearing the Einstein PJ's Lorelai got her last birthday, holding a slice of pizza while watching a spanish soap opera.

„Aren't you the one with the regular working hours? Shouldn't you torment some innocent laboratory coneys right now?"

„The coneys were one big mistake, couldn't sustain more than two milligrams of Betacytolide, dropped dead like flies. We switched to guenons."

„Don't wanna hear that, Frankenstein" Rory covered her ears with her hands. „Otherwise I wouldn't be able to look at you ever again with the same affection I use to display. What are you still doing here?"

„Pondering about the boundless possibilities Rosalia has now that she knows her stepfather Emilio is _in_ _fact_ her half-brother who inherited all of Senor Estebans legal estate." Paris replied with the most austere voice Rory could imagine.

„Did they realize the whole scope of your moralless research methods and fired you at last?"

„Tomorrow's the annual meeting of the honourable American Association of Genetics and Molecular Medicine. I hold the keynote speech."

„Are you doing it in Spanish?"

„Very funny. Dr. Sonderberg gave me the day off to rehearse."

„Dr. Sonderberg doesn't know you a bit."

„No he doesn't. But he signed my application form for the monkeys which makes him a very estimable senior researcher."

Rory went into her room, changed and returned to turn the TV off. She made herself at home on the windowsill they had both admired behind the realtors back one year ago when they were searching for an appropriate place to live. It hadn't been the reason why this flat finally made it - at least not the official one. But the view out of the window held every feature it had to have. A piece of the Hartford sky which was bright and azure at the moment, the inevitable glance across the yard in someone else's apartment, not to mention the rusty fire ladder. Rory opened the splitted screen and breathed the warm air absentmindedly.

„Something wrong with you?"

„No. Everything under control. I won't be here a lot the next three months, I'm covering the Senate election race on site."

„Sounds tremendously enthralling" Paris stood up, sat down next to Rory and handed her a cold slice of Luigi's best.

„Have you heard from Tristan lately?" it came out of the blue.

„DuGrey?" They had shared stories about their old classmates sporadically, Madeline and Louise dropped by every here and there, but somehow Paris had always thought that a certain blonde delinquent was a topic that deserves silence.

„Just the usual society tattle my family provides me with. Attended Princeton, business major, maybe law - something of the usual. Not married as far as I know, but my mother stopped playing matchmaker as soon as he was shipped away for military school. I wonder why he chose not to show up at the alumni reunions."

„Can't blame him for that. Being torn between talking to headmaster Charleston about declining educational standards, Madeline about her ardent affairs with a navy captain slash investment broker slash performance artist and Louise about the undeniable advantages of fabricating ones own baby food at home isn't quite an evening to look forward."

„Right you are. Why asking me that? Found some old diaries of yours?"

„If there _were_ diaries they wouldn't contain a word about him, just as well as I didn't write about N'Sync or the average spring temperatures in southern Argentina." Rory replied heatedly.

„I see."

„Don't dare to sound like this. I hardly recognized him today, had to dig hard in my memory to come up with his surname."

„You saw Tristan today?" Paris didn't bother to conceal her lively interest.

„He's on the campaign team. We had kind of an argument right away. Strange thing is - I have no idea why we yelled at each other."

„You yelled at each other?"

„Stop repeating every word I say. We didn't literally _yell_ at each other it was more of exchanging vile comments."

„Some people don't get rid of their past."

„We had no past." Knowing it better Rory hoped that saying it out loud would make it more true.

„The vision of very interesting three months suddenly materializes in front of my inner eye."

„You're a good fried. Paris. A really good friend you know."

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TBC… if anyone likes it to be.


	4. chapter 4

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB…

It's a long chapter – too long actually, but I felt the urge to render the election campaign and it carried me away. I'm fond of politics – always was - what can I say? ;)

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**chapter 4**

Two hours later Rory stood in the middle of her room looking desperately at the entire contents of her closet neatly arranged on the floor. Snoring she took the cordless phone, dialled and rummaged in her wooden art deco chest of drawers once again while waiting for the connection to establish.

„Gilmore" a singing voice answered on the other line.

„Same would be true here."

„Favourite daughter, you should really try to write your articles on the incorporation of the new consumer guidelines in the European Unions constitution without mommys help. The time will come when I won't be around to bail you out."

„Horrible picture"

„So true."

„Could it be that you didn't return my leather travelling-bag after your fluffy honeymoon?"

„Sudden change of subject. I can deal with that. It _might_ be that it found its momentarily domicile at Luke's. Are you leaving the country? Something I should know about, just in case the police is going to interrogate your close relatives as well. A good alibi needs time to dwell."

„Maybe it escaped your mind, but I'm foreign correspondent. Going abroad isn't tantamount to fleeing from the grasp of justice."

„But I know my little girl. Shallow waters are deep I tend to say."

„You'll rather bite your tongue before reciting imbecile proverbs. Or is marriage already gnawing on you?"

„Ha, being part of the evil conspiracy, aren't we? Thinking Lorelai's gonna change just because her marital status has?"

„Never. Look. I don't really need the bag, but I got a job that requires travelling the sate for some time. I'm not sure if I can make it home for my birthday. As soon as the details present themselves I tell you."

„Sudden change of subject - again. OK with me. I'll await your message like a damsel in distress locked up in a ramshackle tower. Make sure you feed the carrier pigeons well."

„Paris will take care of that. Bye mom. Hug Luke from me."

Rory decided on minimal package. The email she had received from Catherine earlier announced Westport as the town of the big opening event tomorrow and confirmed a hotel reservation for Ms Gilmore at one of the local inns but stayed silent about further planned activities. She felt confident that she would be able to come to Hartford at least once a week. Connecticut was small enough to take it easy, they couldn't seriously intend to spend all the time cruising unless their secret goal was to shake the hand of every eligible voter twice.

After doing some internet research on McMahons biography, reading his agenda as well as the files Morty had collected for her she came to the conclusion that this should be an easy assignment. There wouldn't be a lack of news to spread. McMahons character was controversial, he had worked for the environment lobby before, fought for some explosive community laws during his time as town selectman 1989-1992 and was widely known for his expensive taste in art and women sustained by the fortune of his deceased wife Selene. She scanned through the clippings of old newspaper articles. The partys old man weren't pleased at all with his candidature, but he got elected at the Convention with considerable winning margin nevertheless. What a coincidence Tristan picked him as his mentor she thought examining an agency picture which showed McMahon and Tristan standing on a simple blue and white decorated tribune waving to the crowd gathered beneath. He looked good - they both looked good - wearing their expensive suits and their conquering smiles. She quickly turned the photograph and switched off the light.

It was five in the morning when she woke up puzzled. The last time she got up that early was her graduation day at Yale. Somnambulious she wavered to the bathroom, took a shower and prayed for strength to bear the days to come. Yesterday evening everything had appeared so effortless to handle - until she came across this picture of him, acting so grown up and being so … handsome. She felt embarrassed – mostly about her inexplicable behaviour towards Tristan, but deep down in her mind something else had settled down, an elusive feeling that started to annoy her already.

She knew she had to sort things out, minimize the loss if she wanted to come out of this without any substantial harm. She planned to be the invisible observer in the background - a tactic that always worked. No serious reporter could afford causing the tongues to wag.

Nine o'clock was the announced meeting point for the team to depart, but Rory figured out it would be more appropriate on her first day to go to Westport alone. She didn't own a car. It never proved to be a disadvantage, she cherished the merits of public transportation. Taking the bus meant quality time in the company of one of her books, Bus was a safe haven before the storms of agitated speeches, tons of buttons thrown into Westport's entire population and moderate country bands performing ‚_Saving Grace_' start to howl.

Two hours later she got out of the silvery Greyhound in the middle of the town square which was turned into a symphony of blue and white, probably by some manic unpaid helpers who were drinking their first glass of orange grog right now. She sighed silently.

„Miss Gilmore" someone shouted from behind. Ben stood next to a very old man aloof from the centre, a cell phone in his waving hand. She raised her arm indicating that she had seen him, took the bag the bus driver handed her and made her way across the grassy square.

As she reached the gazebo she stopped for a moment touching the weather beaten pale blue wood. She had to go home soon. The banner fixed on the gazebos roof promised ‚A juster world for everyone'. What a humble goal she thought.

„Rory may I introduce you to former Senator Ed Hagerty"

„A pleasure to meet you."

„Believe me the pleasure is all mine. My day brightens suddenly, young lady" his thick southern accent sounded pleasing and cosy.

„He's giving the inaugural note for the candidate. We had to make use of the most extreme measures to get him up to the East Coast. The funds we underwent a whole lot of humiliation to raise for months are practically empty now."

„Always the same with retired politicians. Once they perceive that the offspring needs them desperately they sense the possibilities of a new extension wing to host their sauna rising." Rorys voice was clearly not austere as she looked in the glistening eyes of the elder. Evidently Mr. Hagerty was one who enjoyed a decent cross-talk.

„Believe me, I keep telling them the only thing I expect in return is a Senator who deals fairly with the faith the voters had put in him. Silly me. Could own a racing stable by now. Now excuse me, I have a speech to write. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour. Audience has become easy to please these days." he clapped Bens shoulder and took a bow in front of Rory.

„Well he's a nice man. Very oldschool"

„And a good pool player too" Ben added jokingly. „The show starts in 30 minutes. Fancy a coffee?"

Her eyes wandered around. Shouldn't she just stroll a bit, talking to some people getting to know what they seriously expected of these guys coming from the big town to turn their quiet little place upside down?

About 100 feet away she recognised Tristan leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets talking animatedly with a gorgeous blonde. She was laughing, curling a stray of her long hair around her finger before placing her delicate little hand on his upper arm.

„Anytime." she replied determined her gaze still locked on the little scene in the distance.

They crossed the bunch of people who slowly assembled in front of the stage. Some were wearing McMahon caps or signs, but most of them weren't equipped with the usual political giveaways. They had made themselves comfortable on picnic blankets or folding chairs curiously awaiting what was going to come.

„Laid-back" Rory marvelled. „Not the picture I had in mind"

„We're different you know. Normally people tend to need more time to recognize that. We collectively came up with the idea of picking a smaller town for our kick-off. Less stress, more intimacy, easier to see how the voters react to the agenda. Very clever of us."

„The money spent in all the fancy schools finally pays off, I see."

They found an open diner and ordered breakfast quite behind the schedule. The middle-aged women gave them a disapproving glance, but served an apple pie that had not be afraid to be compared with Lukes.

Rory gave the pot in her hand an almost lovingly glance before she turned her attention to the man sitting opposite the table. „I wonder what you have prepared to impress you victims."

„There's an open mike - basically a speakers corner for everybody. Plus we hired a band - some college kids who promised they wouldn't slaughter a chicken on stage and dress decent. Barbecue of course _and_ today's highlight if you cherish the company of tipsy salesmen: the local board of economy went trough a lot of trouble to organize a huge party at the town hall this evening."

„Sounds like fun."

„Lucky observer. Sounds like a lot of hard work for me. I'm assigned to pour out grog from 3 to 5 p.m."

„Aren't you a bit underqualified for that?" Rory laughed full heartedly on the vision of a slightly awkward Dr. Weinstein serving alcohol to some underaged highschool kids.

„I wouldn't want it any other way. Spending too much time at university makes you loosing touch with reality." he extracted two ten-dollar bills from his pocket and gestured Rory to stand up. „Spectacle is going to begin. Hope you enjoy it."

Ed Hagerty would have been worth the trouble alone. He filled the tribune with his presence, it was easy to believe that he had been one of the most long-served Senators during the last five decades. They couldn't have chosen a better person to testify in favour of McMahon even though the latter had to struggle for the audience, being the one showing up after the old man.

Rory didn't take notes. She was here for the impression. Looking into the faces of the townspeople she sensed that McMahon did a good job. Wearing casual clothes and a baseball cap he eradiated a certain amount of down-to-earth looseness, but refused to simplify the facts. He tried hard to avoid canned phrases and even if he failed here and there it was a refreshing performance.

„Honey, wanna take a seat?" an old couple had spotted her standing alone and offered a place on their chequered blanket. She faltered slightly not wanting to cause any trouble.

„Come over" they both smiled invitingly.

Two minutes later she held a bottle of beer and had been informed that Edna and Lou came here to see their grandson who happen to play the drums in the band.

McMahon was acknowledged with surging applause. A short piece of taped music played before the whole team entered the stage clapping for the leading man. Suddenly someone stepped forward from the group of assembled staff and approached the microphone. Rory felt strangely self-conscious observing Tristans tall figure in the distance. He wore a dark suite his tie in the same colour as his trousers, but had his jacket taken off recently. He hold it still in his hands. Rory placed the bottle on the floor. For some seconds she stared at its label with a devotion appropriate to marvel the wonders of the Lindisfarne Gospels until she uplifted her gaze again. He moved on the big stage with natural grace as if he was born to stand there, a bright spot lightening his features.

She was trained to recall easily what someone said whatever distractions there may be. An ability that failed her miserably right now. Was he talking about the town, the hospitality they received? The dancing event this evening? Voters registration? She shook her head as if she wanted to get rid of some airborne spirits teasing her.

He had done this before. He was used to be the centre of attention, the short address required no efforts. Slowly he let his eyes wander around the different men and women assembled on the grass beneath. They had lent them their time and he wondered how great a role the barbecue and the drinks played in this decision. Somewhat in the back Rory was sitting next to an elderly woman her eyes downcast. Obviously she didn't care about the things he had to say. It struck him that it took him only two sentences to made her out in the multifaceted crowd. The light coat that was draped carelessly around her shoulders had the colour of laurel leaves, her hair was tied up in a loose ponytail. She drank beer. How many information of no relevance at all can one gather in mere seconds? Already too much he thought, raised his voice and prepared for the great finale.

Seemingly every female over the age of 12 was following his movements with dreamy persistence. Even Edna was caught, nodded in agreement and gave her husband who was involved with the deliberate task of constructing a pyramid out of cheese flips and mini-sausages on his plastic plate a benign knock in his rips. Rory frowned. Such openly displayed admiration bemused her. Being a reporter she learned long ago that the exterior deceives in nine out of ten cases. How shallow must one be to subject important decisions like choosing the first boyfriend, a class in college or ones own representative for the most important legislative body in the country to dispensable things as a convincing smile or a handsome face?

She had to take a short brake. After promising Lou that she won't miss his gifted grandchild's first experience of the big stage she decided to take a walk, leaving the noise and the smell of roasted beef behind. All of the little businesses she passed by were closed temporally. Having a potential future Senator in town must outrival most of regular communal festivities. Westport looked like Stars Hollow in so many ways. It made her homesick and damped down her eagerness to return to the animated square.

Weren't it for the soft music coming out of a floor-level window she almost would have overlooked the tiny antique shop. A bright bell rang as she opened the door and entered.

„Well, well. Who do we have here? I don't sell anything to people who take no lively interest in pursuing their responsibilities as a vigilant citizen. You don't want the pains and hardships of our founding fathers becoming a lost labour, will you?" said an aged voice coming from behind a rack stuffed with a whole lot of odd devices in various kinds of leather boxes. It caught her in surprise.

There was a moment of silence.

„The fact that you're probably old enough to be one of Theodore Roosevelt's voters doesn't mean that you should hide here and pretend the new generation couldn't possibly add something to your extensive knowledge." she managed to snap back.

To identify the coughing noise from the man's direction as a laughter was a difficult task and took Rory some time.

„Smart girls are allowed to stay" he mumbled, „Looking for something in particular?"

„Do you sell books?"

„Do I sell books? No Miss, I don't sell books, I arrange their journey into the hands of a new proprietor who has to prove himself worthwhile. Herself in this case. Feel free to take a look, but don't dare to touch the Kelmscott Chaucer's first edition with your filthy little hands."

She nodded and took a heavy breath. The smell of dust, ancient pergament and lavender formed a heavenly mixture. She forgot time instantly as she sat down on an embroidered armchair a pile of leather bounded volumes on her knees.

„Are you sure _you_ picked the right job, Mary?" the words were uttered in alarmingly close range.

She lost grip on the illustrated Poe she had studied and caused the book to fall, generating a reproachful ‚flap' as it thudded on the oriental carpet under her feet.

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TBC… and please review. The more other stories I read the more I start to dislike mine. Too stiff. I'm sorry for that.

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now I have to get rid of some **errors**….

chapter 1: Zara Hadid is in fact Zaha Hadid and don't get me wrong - I like her buildings. She was just the first victim coming in my mind when I was in need of a contemporary architect.

Rory and Tristan hadn't seen each other for 9 not 7 years. I simply refused to calculate properly, because it seemed to me an awful long period.

I mistook Caroline with Catherine somewhere in the 2nd chapter, which doesn't mean she won't become a beloved character in this story.

the MacMahon/McMahon confusion is solved – finally.

…. and provide an **appendix**, just because it sounds so cool ;)

chapter 1: Heathcliff is of course from _Wuthering Heights_ which you probably know better than me, because I never read it.

chapter 4: the _Lindisfarne Gospels_ were illuminated at a monastery somewhere in Northumberland during the 8th century. I saw it in Londons National Library and its beauty caught my breath.

chapter 4: _Kelmscott_ is a publishing house the Arts & Craft movement founded at the end of the 19th century modelled on medieval examples. The edition of Chaucers _Works_ was their most ambitious project. One can actually buy it in second-hand bookshops if you one is willing to afford 100000 dollar.


	5. chapter 5

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB…

AN: **thanks for your reviews so much!** I honestly thought nobody would be interested in yet another Tristan story, but they started airing GG in Austrian television this year, one episode a day which made me the lucky observer of Rory growing 4 years within a few months and deepened my stern conviction that he's the one.

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**chapter 5**

Tristan raised from his bended position behind the back of her chair, pulled a rickety stool next to Rory and settled down in perfect insouciant elegance.

„Didn't your mother tell you that playing evil tricks on people entangled in reading can cause substantial damages? Uncontrollable movements leading to severe infractions, faints, not to mention the readers agitated melancholia provoked by the sudden rupture of the literary flux?"

„You're too old for Poe anyway" he said glancing at the cover on the floor.

„No excuse at all. You're such a lousy politician as far as I noticed." He tensed up by her words.

Rory frowned. „What are you doing here? Did the mob dispel you from the tribune?"

„I saw you leaving." as if it were the sufficient explanation of his sudden appearance.

„And?"

„And I figured out since it seems that we have to see each other frequently, even _work_ together" he stressed the second verb „we should talk." he sounded calm and reasonable.

‚True enough' Rory thought but couldn't imagine the appropriate answer. So she did the one thing that discharged her from the necessity to analyze her actions.

„Look. There is nothing to talk about. I had a really bad day, a screwed up day to be precise. I hadn't asked for the job that brought me to Mr. McMahons headquarters - quite the contrary. For months I had waited to get an assignment to go to Europe and they sent me to Westport - literally spoken. I hadn't slept the previous night and seeing you walking into this office … I simply slid back into old habits. Nothing personal. I don't know who you are anymore and I did not want to imply that I judge you from the stupid behaviour you displayed in the past. I'm convinced you became a decent guy, who is going to own a nice two-storey house, be married to a lovely wife and play with his adorable children - all within the next three years. No offence meant." she stopped mildly out of breath after her long harangue.

„Irony, Gilmore?"

„Your perception apparatus is improving. I see." She looked into his piercing blue eyes, but they shot her out.

Her voice became austere. She didn't want to let her chance to seal this unpleasant chapter pass by. „I'm sorry for the things I said yesterday."

„Me too." he added quietly, unexpected sincerity clouding his face before he averted his look.

Suddenly Rory noticed that the music was still playing, she noticed the dust particles turned into golden shimmering flakes by a ray of the afternoon sun dancing in front of her eyes, she noticed his fresh scent - a scent like a mountain lake, like rain in spring - she noticed the sound of creaking footsteps on the old wooden floor and the purr of a white cat lying comfortable on a pile of 19th century Aristotle editions. The room had turned into a kaleidoscope only to prevent her from noticing the one thing that mattered. That her heart was beating in an unfamiliar pace.

Just to do something, she reached down and collected the Poe brushing her hair unintended against the hand he had placed on top of his expensively clad knee. He felt the urge to stand up and broaden the distance between them.

„I guess we are on speaking terms again" his businesslike remark annoyed her without any apparent reason.

She didn't feel like stating the obvious and announce the recommencement of their interpersonal relations. He was still just a shadow from her past and if she could she would summon him to stay right there.

„Now that you have proven yourself a civilized grown-up you can return on the scene, exercising your unique persuasion powers to collect some votes. They shouldn't be wasted here."

„Talked to someone specific about me?" he asked playfully.

She pressed the rescued book a little too tight against her body. It was not at all the decent shield she yearned for. „I observe. Even if it weren't my job to pay attention I would have noticed" she blurted out cursing herself inwardly for showing interest.

„Two days and our secret plan of action has already been detected. Well done. We figured out that seducing the insignificant amount of three females a day will supposable yield a glorious victory. It's a simple arithmetic computation taking account of word-of-mouth advertising, number of friends, neighbours and relatives. Of course the impression you leave behind must be breathtakingly strong." the smirk he displayed was all too familiar.

Joking about the way he responded to women and the way women responded to him had always come natural. Having affairs made him feel alive. He loved the sensation of soft skin against his chest, he loved the lust in their eyes, he loved being the source of their moans and their laughter. He loved his heart being safe, not involved. He never had to guard it anyway, it just didn't get lost. At least not recently he thought watching Rorys slightly annoyed features.

It gave him a strange kind of satisfaction that she was like all the others judging him so easily.

„You volunteered, I presume?"

„What can I say? All for the good cause."

Slowly she put the volume back into the shelf gently touching the imprinted letters on its back. „Just leave, you've done your good deed today, boyscout."

„Want to get rid of my presence?"

„Can't stand the vision of your party being defeated by a mile just because its silver bullet got lost in an antique shop."

„Know who _you_ are voting for?"

Her eyes narrowed. „None of your business. Secrecy of the ballot an unknown

term to you?"

„Hmm, resistance. The hard cases have always been my dearest. Not only are the rewards bigger, they also tend to need a _very_ special treatment"

She let out a deep sigh. „Let me take back the civilized grown-up. You're 26 years old for gods sake."

Reluctantly her words settled in. He was 26 years old, he worked hard to achieve his goals. Sometimes he forgot his goals and kept on working even harder. He wondered if he was so effective in everything he does because he had nothing left to prove. Nobody to please anymore and nobody whose opinion counted. And here he stood playing aimless games with a woman he had once known. He could almost hear the clatter of locker doors resounding, hushed talks about Biology classes and a pervasive bell ringing.

Rory observed his features darken and took a deep breath. Talking to him was even more strenuous than she had imagined it to be. Nothing was safe with him. He changed faster than she was willing to react.

He hold up his hand in faked defence. „I'll shut up and you let me stay. You're not the only one deserving a break."

„You don't need my consent. Maybe you need his" pointing at the old man who eyed them suspiciously. „And don't come near the Kelmscott Chaucer. Take it as an advice from an _old_ friend" she smiled wickedly.

„What ever this may be, it will be safe from me."

„Not a phrase you use often I suppose."

He chose to overhear her last comment. „Lets do some shopping" he announced instead.

„If you want your materialistic dreams of wallowing in a shallow consumer universe fulfilled go to Wal-Mart" the ubiquitous grumpy voice of the owner piped up out of nowhere.

The impression of a conscious-stricken customer Tristan embodied was accredited with an approving grunt. Moments later the ducked figure was gone, evaporated in the twilight of the aisles.

„You found yourself a friend on your wave-length?"

„I suggest you stop talking and utilize your time wisely. Many things to explore." her face lighted up thinking of all the hidden wonders in this room.

She looked beautiful, emanating excitement and anticipation. Her sparkling eyes met his. The invitation to feel the same amount of happiness over dusty items other people had discarded aeons ago was unsaid, but present. Tristan turned around, drew away from her gaze. He wasn't meant to be its target and he knew it.

Every thing stored in the rack he faced had a history of its own. It had been in the possession of someone's daughter, someone's lover. It had feelings imprinted on its surface, it was unique. She belonged here. He most definitely didn't. The image of an old bruised teapot its lid missing in the middle of his steely clean kitchen provoked a bitter laughter. What was he doing here?

„Found something funny?" she asked slightly concerned.

„Kind of" he replied wearily.

„Oh" sliding back into silence.

Steadily the heap of books she had selected grew. They hadn't exchanged further words but he always knew where she stood sensing her steps, hearing her soft exclamations when she found another treasure. He wandered around, doubtful and unsettled. It reminded him of a children's play. A forbidden attic waiting to be explored. His childhood attic had remained locked. He had never gotten the key. For all means DuGreys had to stay clean. _Look in the future, son, not in the past_.

He flipped a few volumes open, scanned over some lines, touched some statues and broken watches merely to distract him. He was a focused man, he was content. His pathetic thoughts caught him in surprise. Putting the Shelley back reciting the last words he had read in a low voice he nudged on a large box wrapped in fragile silk. The Chinese drawing on its upper side was faded, but skilfully exercised. With recently enflamed curiosity he raised the upper half and felt soft fabric under his fingertips. Removing the cover entirely he came to the conclusion that he had laid eye on one of the most delicate dresses he had ever seen. Slowly he put it back.

„Any idea what you are wearing for the party, Mary?" he shouted.

„Deducing from the stupidity of your question you must be pretty bored" she yelled back.

No response.

„I think it's the perfect occasion for my patriotic tank-top." Rory showed up on the other side of the rack glancing through a tiny hole between a tin toy-soldier and a horrible version of a Rococo bedside lamp.

„Your what?" he lowered his head to get a glimpse of her face.

„It has the star striped banner embroidered on its front. Made of glitter. Very glamorous, very appropriate. I knew there was a reason why I brought it along. If I feel daring I might combine it with my mom's hot pants. They must have slipped in my bag somehow."

„Evil. Giving the representatives of the board of commerce a heart attack. Make sure you bring a doctor."

„What can a girl do get her share in the days headline"

„You write the days headline."

„There you're right" she said pleased and disappeared.

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When they left the store she tumbled slightly under the heavy weight of the book-filled bag in her arms.

„You know I could be of assistance, but somehow I think you wouldn't appreciate me carrying your books."

„Right you are again. Some things are doomed to be constant data in history."

‚And I'm the best to know.' he added silently.

They had nearly reached the town centre when Tristan stopped, lightly touching her arm not wanting to cause the valuable cargo to fall „I've got to go back. Forgotten my jacket. The inn Christine booked our rooms in is called..." he snipped his fingers in an attempt to enhance his memory

„‚Blossoming Hill'. Unlike _other_ people I actually memorize the important words." she said smiling.

„Striver. I advise you to secure your books from all the cunning beer-spilling origins of danger lingering around today."

Before she could respond his upright figure was halfway down the street.

--------------------------

„What are you? The embodiment of distraction? The reason I have an antique store in this goddamned unimportant town is my preference for solitude. I hadn't have anyone visiting me twice a day since ... never."

„The less you talk the faster I'm out" Tristan asserted rushing down the steps grabbing the box he had safely stored behind a Lincoln bust one hour ago. He took out the dress holding it at armlenght to measure its size. Precautious he folded it again and appeared in front of the counter.

„48 seconds" he stated glancing at the silver Rolex on his wrist.

The owner made no attempts to move.

„It was Gloria Swanson's" There was more than a hint of dreaminess in his words. ‚Who had thought that the old man was capable of that?' Tristan had to suppress a well-tempered laughter.

„Wore it on the premier of ‚_Indiscreet_'. Looked like a queen."

„Do you think I could buy it?" he asked suddenly alerted.

„It's a special dress." the man sounded like pondering on the magnificence of the Declaration of Independence.

„But on the other hand she's a special girl. Has a good taste in literature. It's yours. Take it."

Tristan was stunned but decided wisely to stay silent. At once he felt inexplicably silly paying a semi-embittered hermit for an old evening gown.

„Precious things are hard to find. Cherish every second in their presence." the hermit said, touching the silk of the box one last time before he pushed the young man out on the street.

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TBC… and review, please! – and I promise not to turn the piece into a sentimental, sappy kind of love-story ;)


	6. chapter 6

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB…

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**chapter 6**

The dusk had turned the trees into blurred silhouettes. Half an hour more and the only light remaining would be the bright chains of coloured bulbs draped into the tall autumnal dyed chestnuts, wreathed neatly around power poles and road signs.

‚_What is it with small towns and organizing jollifications?'_ Rory thought faintly smiling while closing the window of her hotel room.

Balancing a styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and one of the most ridiculous campaign mascots ever invented in the other she had arrived 15 minutes ago. Complacent with the fact that she had elegantly managed to open the door without loosing a drop of the badly needed liquid or dumping the furry abnormality to the floor she had leaned against the wall.

Abandoning the search for the switch had been the logic next step.

Standing in the middle of an unknown room slowly captured by the darkness was the closest equivalent of being invisible she could imagine. And invisibility was an option she was willing to reconsider right now.

Since Tristan had left pictures of him had started to intrude her well-ordered thoughts. Between conversations she saw his mocking smirk, between two songs she saw his cold blue eyes. They went away - as quickly as they emerged from the depths of her preposterous memory - leaving no traces behind. But annoying they were. Annoying _he_ was. She kicked off her shoes with more force than necessary. Somewhere in the corner an innocent sideboard had to endure the full scope of her disturbance.

In the distance the band was still playing. '_Lane would have liked them'_.

No blood had been spilled - that is as long as she was among the frantically yelling audience, Lou and Edna at her side - pride written in their faces. She was convinced that she had left right in time before Edna could start to push her into the arms of her rock-star grandson or rip off the self made cardigan revealing an AC/CD t-shirt and forget about her hip joint endoprothesis. Both scenarios seemed alike possible.

With a causality that could only emerge from years of practise she tossed the cup in the rubbish bin and let her body fall on the bouncing mattress. The formless soft toy Ben had given her at the end of the afternoon with a wide grin before he headed away to distribute some more alcohol to the already well filled population of Westport rested light on her belly. Small black button eyes glistened in the twilight.

„Mocking me too?", she asked reproachful letting her hand run through its messy blue fur.

„What are you anyway? The failed product of an overpaid advertising expert who was most likely on drugs when he announced you the official mascot of this race."

She decided to put it away before the single-edged conversation could develop and made her feel weirder than she already did. Expanding her arm she squeezed her lifeless companion in one of the huge accurately arranged cushions.

Something was laying on the edge of her bed. Rory was pretty sure that she had placed the bag from the antique shop on the small table beside the entrance. Maybe the maid had rearranged her belongings. Not wanting to abandon her relaxative position she tried to get a hold of the object. Definitely not her books. It was lighter, bigger, stranger. Her palm stroked over a silky surface.

Coming to the conclusion that it was eventually time for the benedictions of electricity she bended forward to her bedside lamp. The small card had nearly fallen off the box. She took it, read the four well-balanced letters and turned it around only to face a white void. ‚_Rory_' - so it was hers. No mistake, no falsely delivered package.

Lifting the cover her eyes widened. Reluctantly she rose.

Five minutes later she was still standing on the side of the bed, her arms crossed and stared at the dress she had displayed on top of the white sheets. She didn't dare to touch it once more as if a spell was woven into the rich fabric. One would have expected it to melt into the surface of the bed, having the same colour, but somehow the soft material seemed to shimmer. Rory could tell it was old. It had the slender outline of all 1930ies garments, but if Titian had made up his mind and vested his Venus of Urbino with it - nobody would have opposed.

Vaguely it smelled like jasmine. Slowly Rory got nervous. Marvelling on the myriads of folds that were falling down from the high-accentuated waistline of a mysterious evening-robe was not the situation she had envisioned herself ever in. There have always been other things deserving her attention way more.

The red numbers of the alarm clock were flashing merciless. 8.07. She was already late for the party. Grateful she drew away. Time to think about the present's donor will come. If she wanted it or not.

-----------------------

„Don't get me wrong. I'm no gun nut. Far from it. Don't appreciate these stupid bastards who go to bed with their rifles, bowling down everything that moves, but the Second Amendment stipulates clearly and precisely that the right to bear arms shall _not_ be infringed. And who are we to demolish the groundwork of our constitution?"

Tristan scanned his side of the room for rescue. Ed Hagerty stood by the bar involved in a deep dialogue with the resolute towns-select women. His head had turned into a dangerous shade of purple presumably from being in a constant fit of laughter. If it weren't for the legendary physical health of the old Senator he would have been worried about his well-being. Probably they were talking about the latest Adam Sandler movie.

He snorted and faced his opponent once again.

„Lewis vs. United States made clear that the government can in fact limit the keeping and bearing of arms by a single individual especially if a well-regulated militia is guaranteed otherwise", Tristan recited monotonous and took a deep sip from his whiskey-filled glass.

Why was this happening to him? Everybody was enjoying one of the rare carefree evenings and he must have gotten involved in a nauseating 6th grade weapons debate.

He gave Ed Hagerty a penetrating glance but the old man made clear that he had assigned his priorities otherwise.

„This is a fascinating topic, Mister Hutchins. Rarely touched by contemporary political discourse, which makes it even more dazzling, but I have to excuse myself. Maybe you consider to write a letter to the editor of Westport's _Herald_?" Tristan decided that time for diplomacy was over.

The pace of the steps that brought him away from now sulky Mr. Hutchins would normally indicate a full-grown beast lurking behind his back. Looking for neutral territory he nearly crushed into Ben who seemed to guard the cold buffet, half-heartedly poking in a bowl of spring salad.

„Ben, that's not the time and place to be lonesome", he said patting the elders shoulder.

„A dictum that applies self-evidently for you more than me", the other replied coolly.

„This party somehow developed into a Bermuda Triangle full of bothersome existences every one of them haunting me with the most humdrum tirades I've heard since Connelly's first screwed up TV duel. Reclusiveness not exactly the thing I fear right now."

„It must be the hair that makes you such a sought-after object of desire." Bens features softened a bit. „Eat some garlic bread - that helps."

„The ladies wouldn't approve."

„Which ladies?" Ben asked pointing emphatically at Tristan's escort-less side.

„They'll come eventually. Don't make the mistake to underestimate the lascivious side of a small-town girl's psyche", he claimed with overemphasised seriousness.

Ben grimaced unnoticeably and returned to observe the entrance from his well-picked position. He had always esteemed Tristan as smart, as a man who understood political processes almost instinctively. If he condescended to meaningful discussion only few were able to equal him. But Ben felt uneasy in his presence. He had never been fond of the overly self-contended guys, the ones who thought the world belonged to them, the ones who didn't bother to hide their flaws but made them into admired trademarks.

„Waiting for someone?" Tristan asked smirking.

„Yes." For the first time he looked straight into the blonde's eyes.

„You could have told me that my assertion about country girl's amenities didn't fall on virgin soil."

Ben could almost feel another amicable backslapping. He didn't like it. Luckily

his response was intercepted by the final emergence of the fervent expected date.

Before stepping into the dimly lit assembly room Rory had examined the numerous pictures that were arranged in a bizarre non-order on the walls of the town-hall's corridors. It had taken her a while to make the acquaintance of all the football champions, spelling-competition winners and fire brigade chiefs. But it had calmed her down.

The sight of Tristan leaning casually next to Ben became the challenge to her laboriously acquired peace of mind.

„Ben, sorry I'm late", she said in a soft voice, got on her tiptoes and gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

„There are some things that are worth waiting for", he answered smoothly before handing her a glass of red wine. „You look great."

Rory straightened her black knee-length skirt. „The only piece I brought that was close to fit the event. How could I know that you politicians spend your time merely with partying?" She laughed excusatorily.

Tristan observed them both in silence. He had almost forgotten how happy Ben had been the day Rory had come to see Catherine. They looked good together. Calm and comfortable. It was as if he didn't exist in their little greeting-universe. His grip on the glass tightened.

Slowly Rory turned to face him. „Tristan" was all she had to say.

„Is 48 hours your new incubation period before going into the kissing, Mary? I recall times where you've been not as lavish with your affections." there was a grain of sharpness underlying his jesting words.

„It had always been a question of the right person." This wasn't just a well-accomplished defence. She was serious and she wanted him to know.

Ben made a quick mental note to keep them apart in the future.

„Would you do me the honour and dance with me?" Well, that should do it for now.

None of the about 100 grown up guests seemed to regard dancing an essential component of this sort of event. A few children who had gotten rid of their Sundays garments had conquered the dance floor, skipping rackety around no matter what song was playing.

Rory put down her glass. „Are you sure?"

„Don't you think they look like they were in need of some instruction?" Ben took her hand and tossed her away.

The kids were not sure if they should be all too happy with the tall couple that dared to infiltrate their space, but soon they started to copy Rory's moves and the way Ben held his hands.

„How sweet" Tristan muttered between his clenched teeth.

Rory enjoyed herself. In a daring attempt a grinning freckled redhead had offered himself as her waltzing partner. Honoured she had bowed and temporarily switched her companions till Ben had claimed his older rights.

„Bushwhacking your next victim?" Ed Hagerty placed himself between Tristan and the dance floor, disrupting the cold stare that was targeted at the slim, dark vested figure 10 feet away.

„I may not be the most exemplary model of my species, but still I prefer the ones who are old enough to hold a driving license."

„It would have been a honour to compete against you, son", the old man said after a throaty laughter. „You the hell know how to delude and disguise."

The younger gave him a questioning look.

„I've been a ladies man myself - centuries ago. What it comes down at the end of the day is to admit defeat."

Tristan was not in the mood to decipher the former Senator's cryptic worldly wisdoms.

„Only the weak surrender." he didn't mean it. It was just a dull phrase without relevance, but he felt cornered. As if Ed Hagerty had the ability to look right through him. He didn't even know himself what could be found there.

„I'm willing to wage a fine sum that you'll come to terms with your hidden weakness sooner or later. Politics' a game played tough." he piled up some caviar on a cheese cracker „And love too."

Rory was exhausted. Since 20 minutes the little orchestra was performing fast Latin American rhythms. Ben was a good dancer, which meant a lot of turns and rapid steps for her. Only for a second she had closed her eyes after she had loosed the hold of his hands to execute another twist. But it was long enough to bump rudely into a tall male figure, her face touching the starched white fabric of his shirt. Looking up she cursed.

„May I abduct your date for a second." Tristan managed to make a statement out of a question directing his words towards the woman who hadn't moved an inch away from him and not towards Ben who awaited Rory's recurrence in vain.

Rory sighed with ostentation „Make it quick, I'd like to return to my _date_ soon."

„I never make it quick. That's not what I'm known for." He slightly parted his lips and took a step back to adjust into the right dancing position.

She still stood at the same place, frozen, but her eyes glistened fiercely.

Suddenly the music slowed down. '_Great_' both thought - emphasising a clearly different meaning.

He pulled her near, placing his left hand on the tender curve her lower back formed. Before her head could begin to process all the data the new situation provided her with he had started to move. Slowly and elegantly they were floating on the dance floor.

With every breath she took he could feel her body raising and falling against his. With every step they made he got more and more aware of her fingertips resting on his neck.

He brought his head down to her ear to drown the Frank Sinatra song out „What happened to your tank top?"

Since he had made contact she had focused on the table on the other side of the room counting empty Champaign bottles to distract her from the strange feeling that crawled up her spine. Happy that he provided her with innocent distraction she answered.

„Couldn't afford the doctor. But ..." she retreated back to allow him a glance at her loosely falling shirt „I brought a G-rated compensation." He inspected the black and white figure printed on the shirts front side.

„Mao?"

„Jefferson."

„The star striped banner disco-top was a joke, but you own a garment with good old Thomas on it. You're crazy", he smiled teasingly and closed the gap between their bodies again.

„Paris made it."

„No way."

„She was into handicraft once. Quite skilfully I must admit. Long story, but the phase is over thank god. Christmas presents became something to look forward again."

„Like the facsimile of Einstein's diaries in the original German?"

„You still know her pretty well. Maybe you want to call her some day."

He looked into her serious face and swore inwardly to do so.

A few strands of her brown hair had freed themselves from the complicated bun she had twisted them in. Cautious he removed the silvery brooch that held it together and watched her now mildly wavy hair fall on her shoulders.

„It would have come down anyway" he whispered commentarial. „Ben's a wild dancer."

With that he handed her back into the arms of his colleague who had kept track of them with growing alertness.

Without looking back Tristan made his way to one of the tables, stopped behind a seated women and covered playfully the eyes of the blonde. A light female giggle accompanied his action before he was dragged down on a free chair and rewarded with a passionate kiss.

Rory could still feel his touch on the small of his back while she witnessed the little scene.

‚_Don't be a fool_' she told herself before she went to the bathroom to tie up her messy hairstyle.

TBC…

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**A/N:** Even tough I had to learn some of the most important US Supreme Court judgements for one of my history classes once, I made this particular one up – so don't kill me you law-students out there.

A huge thanks to the small bunch of faithful reviewers I got – without you I wouldn't have the verve and the strength to keep on writing. :)


	7. chapter 7

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB …

**A/N:** I got a beta for Christmas - couldn't imagine anything better. All thank-you-letters that this story is easier to read go to _season4.5_, all complaints that it is still pretty boring to me. ;)

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**chapter 7**

The chain of lights that illuminated the main street had guided them home. Somehow the alcohol in her veins had made her oversensitive to the cool breeze and the strange sounds of the night. Ben had offered her his coat, but she had refused.

She couldn't have had more than three glasses of red wine - maybe four she admitted stumbling across a flowery pot on the inn's porch.

„What a nice evening" Ben said after making sure she had found the key in the depths of her huge bag. It was his turn to give her a swift kiss on her cheek.

„Good night." The chorus of their joined voices died quickly in the silence of the entrance hall. She watched him disappearing in the darkness of the corridor.

„Good evening ... Edward." The polished badge of the receptionist's revers announced his name. He coped pretty well with the shock she had administered, ripping him out of his light slumber.

„I have a question concerning my room - 206" she smiled politely, but knowing Michele she bewared of overstressed friendliness. Getting into an argument about disastrous working-conditions was something she hoped to avoid.

----------------------

The hot water nearly burned her skin. Motionless she stood under the shower letting thousands of drops lashing down on her face. She had lost track of time, but when the warmth of the water slowly faded she faced the pleasant side effect of her former wine-mellowed head being clear again.

Rory wrapped a towel around her body, opened the bathroom-door and settled on the edge of her bed accompanied by the white cloud of steam she had released. Battling the temptation to find out if the outspread dress fits her figure, if the fabric felt good on her bare skin she put it back into the box.

It was a bad joke, a challenge she had turned down, nothing more.

Quickly she changed into a worn-out sleeveless top and her pyjama pants. Like on remote control she grabbed the nearest book.

„You won't regret it, darling." The cajoling words in front of her window were loud enough to disturb her reading.

„I bet that I won't. But I have work that need to be done till tomorrow morning. Maybe _you_ would, babe."

She knew the second voice, she didn't need to stand up and glace down on the street to affirm the pair's identity. Tristan had probably a hard time turning down the alluring blonde's advances. ‚_I guess SHE wouldn't_' Rory caught herself thinking.

Her fragile concentration was broken, the characters of her novel refused to talk to her anymore, they were sensing that her thoughts were absorbed elsewhere - she could just as much go to bed.

But sleep was avoiding her. The red-glowing numbers at the clock's index on top of the nightstand formed strange patterns in front of her eyes. They were dancing. Fiercely. Bound to be together till the end of time.

Tossing around she came to a conclusion. She had to get rid of the dress. In the middle of the night, craving for rest it appeared to be a cleverly devised plan to her.

It took her three failed trials until she finally knocked. Five heartbeats later Tristan opened the door. Amused he let his eyes wander down her out-of-bed outfit till he reached her bare feet. Much to her regret it was too late to run.

„Need some company?" Casually he leaned against the doorframe, still wearing the pants of his suite, the first three buttons of his shirt opened.

„Need some conduct-lessons?" she snapped back.

„Oh I'm sorry. Give me the honour of joining me in my humble harbourage." since the bed stood in the middle of the room the nonchalant inviting gesture was directed at this special piece of furniture.

„No thank you." She was here for a single purpose - to give him back his objectionable gift. No discussion, no reprovals, no questioning his reasons. Just a civil _‚Nice try, but haven't you learned anything about Rory Gilmore and bribery, Rory Gilmore and your generously distributed charms?_'

So the plan went - hypothetically.

„That's yours" the box rested unstable on her outstretched hand.

„Don't you think I should try a diet before venturing a public appearance in it?"

„I didn't come to argue. Whatever it was, that lead you to the misguided judgement of giving this _thing_ to me - you were wrong. If you wanted to underline your willingness to adhere to our little peace treaty you could have invited me to a cup of coffee. If you wanted something else ... don't even think about it." with a perfect throw she tossed it on top of his bed.

„Timeo danaos et dona ferentes" he uttered the Latin words with carefree facility.

Rory furrowed her brows.

„I fear the Gree-" Tristan started, his right hand raised to a skitting rhetorical pose.

„I enjoyed the blessings of Latin classes, thank you," she cut him off. „Learned some handy aphorisms by heart?"

„Second Master in history", he said quietly, rubbing his palms against his shirt.

„Never conceived that Military school is known for inflaming the urge to climb the heights of humanistic education in the cold hearts of cocky well-breeds." She lifted her head and gave him the first genuine smile this evening. Her past-midnight encounter had taken an unpredictable turn.

„How did you know it came from me?" Luckily _he_ hadn't forgotten the cause of her visit.

„Maybe asking me about my party outfit wasn't exactly the best method to disguise your intentions. And there are always the right persons around to gain further information. A concierge for instance. I'm a journalist. We ask questions. Why are people always forgetting about this?"

„Your unawaked manner," he helped her out.

„Yeah, I came up with that. Clever, hm?"

„Rory come in. The floor is cold you must be freezing." his deep and all of a sudden honest voice sounded almost pleading.

She shook her head.

He bent forward. Lightly his lips were brushing against her ear. There was the scent again, emanating from the exposed skin of his chest. As a precaution she stopped breathing.

„I already got laid tonight, you don't have to be afraid," he whispered hoarsely.

Perplexed she pressed her lips together.

„Good night Tristan" she said adamantly while turning around, obviating another look into his eyes. Moments later the corridor in front of his room was empty.

„Idiot" he muttered under a deep breath resting his forehead against the hard doorframe.

But deep down he knew why he had crushed the moment.

-----------------------------

Apparently getting up early became her annoying routine on this mission. The inn was deserted; its inhabitants seemed to cure their hangover from yesterday's party with extended beauty sleep.

Rory sat down on a small table in the motley furnished dining room pouring some coffee out of the thermos flask she had found on the pantry. She clenched her fingers tight around the cup and watched the creamy liquid tumble. There was no need to return to Hartford so early, she brought her notebook and could have written her first article on every bench or every swing in this town. And there were many. But she wanted to be alone.

If she had been honest to herself she would have admitted that she deliberately tried to avoid just one person.

„And I thought that I'm the only maniac who cherishes the morning sun." In a ballet of quick movements Catherine dumped her luggage, wound herself out of her floor-length knitted coat, grabbed the coffee, plunged two pieces of sugar, bite into a muesli-bar and gave Rory a bright grin.

„My bus leaves at 7.30. And believe me - I'll be asleep again as soon as the wheels start to turn." Rory smiled back.

„Abandon the bus, I give you a ride. I've to talk to some guys from a students newspaper back in the city. But we should leave..." she eyed the scary cuckoo clock at the wall „now."

„The sooner the better" Rory mumbled.

„So, how's it going?" They were heading down a quiet road, the green and yellow chequered countryside flashing by.

„Good" Rory answered monosyllabic. „Not sure if the whole setup particularly enhances journalistic objectivity though", she added, thinking Catherine deserved something more.

„I see the problem. Maybe I should introduce you to the team of our contestant. He hired a few pretty handsome boys too. But ours are smarter." She tried to hide her grin, but failed.

Rory chuckled, but didn't respond to her innuendos. „Dividing my time between the two candidates. That would have been the right thing to do. Somehow that was not the opinion of my editor."

„Or of the person who completes your editor's pay-cheque."

Rory made up her mind that it was time to make some calls when her mobile rang.

„Guess what. I found your bag." Lorelai sounded as if she'd discovered the walls of ancient Troy - after a life long obstacle-filled search.

„Thanks mom for sharing the good news, but Paris lent me her Louis Vuittons'. They lived up to their reputation I dare say."

„So what Posh-Spice? From now on disregarding the dear remembrances of your carefree youth? I carried you home from hospital in that bag on a fateful evening 25 years ago." she could almost see her mothers pouting mouth.

„That's so not true. Grandma gave it to me on my 20th birthday. Shipped the long way across the ocean from some tiny family business in Copenhagen. In the strict sense it's a pretty lofty bag itself."

„Traitor"

„Liar."

„Why aren't you sleeping, lost daughter?"

„Because you called me?"

„Name it a mother's instinct, but I knew you were awake. What's going on?"

„And I thought, now that you are married your pathological compulsion to be consistently informed about your offspring's activities would degenerate." Rory said taunting.

„You'll die a sad and lonely dead one day if you continue ripping out your mom's heart."

„No way you outlive me."

„Haven't I told you about our tragic hereditary family disease, the one that skips 5 generations until it sails in with all the more ferocity?" her voice was thick with frenzy.

„That's called intelligence, mom."

„Don't say I haven't told you when you start to see pink Leprechauns before you break out into a cold sweat."

In the short silence that followed Rory pondered her possibilities. She didn't want to talk about the things that happened yesterday with Catherine on the drivers seat. Exclusively mom-stuff shouldn't be shared with new acquaintances - as nice and understanding they were.

„So - what's up?" Lorelai cut her thoughts.

„The usual. Listening to boring speeches, talking to senile Senators, getting drunk, refusing pricy briberies - everyday's work."

„Don't dare to reject the anonymous bank-account at the Caymans again. Morality is fine, but if it interferes with your mothers pension scheme I count on your good judgement."

„Luke will take care of you."

„Yeah, I fear that too."

„I'll call you later, mom. In case I'm still alive." She pushed the red button and gave Catherine an uneasy smile.

Her mouth formed one word „Parents"

„Strong family ties?" Catherine asked.

„You can say that. Speaking of family - do you have a fixed tour-plan? I'd like to be home on my birthday."

„Where's home?"

„Stars Hollow" Rory answered with a longing she hadn't felt for a long time.

„Nobody would mind if you ditch some of the events. Believe me, they are very much alike. Make something up. When's the day?"

„November the 5th."

„That's almost two months ahead." Bustling Catherine fumbled in the messy glove locker while calculating. „Sunglasses" she explained. The day had become bright and sunny. Silently Rory offered help.

„You like your future planned? Politics would be your ultimate nightmare."

„I expect being elected as head of the school council's deputy was the peak of my career than. Always liked being on the other side. It's safer."

„Hmm." For a short while Catherine pondered over her own life-style and the intelligent young women's craving for guarantees.

„As luck would have it Stars Hollow is on our list. In fact every town with more than 20 inhabitants is on our list. I made the list. It's a stressful piece of paper. Maybe I can rearrange the schedule." She seemed to be more than content with her bright idea.

Rory was not so sure if that particular coincidence was something she wanted to ever happen. Alerted she shuffled in her seat. No, life was complicated enough. Fools, who add more causes for alarm. Like inviting a bunch of button-wearing strangers to bounce into her birthday party.

She leaned back and let her head fall on the neck rest. Like paying a tall blonde's room an unannounced visit in the middle of the night. Like picturing how it would have felt if his lips had traced a line down her shoulder.

„I don't think that would be a good idea. Not at all." Rory's repulsing words were closely noticed by Catherine, whose instinct told her that the whole stir wasn't just about time frames and family celebrations.

TBC …

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"I fear the Greeks, even when bringing gifts" (_Vergil_)

**A/N:** I know, I know – the story develops in a rather unhurried pace, but it's my first one. be patient, the twist will come. ;)


	8. chapter 8

**disclaimer:** all belongs to WB …

**A/N:** to all who reviewed: **thanks**! You eased some of my doubts.

_ceciliah_: I need Ben - what's a story without some drama? – but after that one, there are three exclusively Ben-less chapters coming – just for you ;)

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**chapter 8**

„Damn!" Paris frantic exclamation made the silence after the loud rattle a lot less scaring. Nobody who was able to sound so disgruntled could be bleeding to death at the same moment. He decided to obey the order she had given him half an hour ago and stayed in the living room.

„Restaurant is the key-word. I told you," he uttered smugly. „Some people aren't meant to undergo the fulfilling experience of relishing their own homemade meals. Obviously you're one of them."

She appeared in the kitchen door, her eyes narrowed, waving a still steamy wooden spoon at his direction. „Stay silent for once in your life or you'll starve."

The strange bubbling noises coming from the stove intensified menacingly. She let out an exasperate sigh. „Find yourself something to do. Dinnertime is postponed due to unexpected obstacles. Nothing I couldn't handle, though."

Crossing his arms behind his head he made himself comfortable at the minimalist therapist's couch next to the overflowing bookshelf.

„I enjoy your own little up-today version of Macbeth' first scene. I really do. The cauldron, poisoned wads of smoke all over, spells muttered. Isn't it hard to get the eye of a unicorn, sacrificed on Midsummer Night these days?"

„Believe me, I have my sources," she said mysteriously while heading to the kitchen again. „Hope you got the point of my personal interpretation. I turned it into a modern metaphor about gender-selected domestic skills."

He watched her leave and wondered how much she had changed. It wasn't just that she had cut her hair breathtakingly short. There was a calmness underlying her antics. A tiny spark of envy burgeoned in his mind. Time had treated her well. Fate had treated her well. Paris Gellar sharing a flat and a friendship with Rory Gilmore, who could have imagined that?

„Nice apron," he yelled after her. „Why bother yourself with wearing extra clothes?"

„In your dreams, DuGrey. In your pitiable, pubescent dreams."

Easily he could identify the traces of two different characters all over the room. They formed a deliberate balance and made the place something special.

Energetically he rose. Time to be an ill-mannered guest and sneak a little bit around.

He had never seen so many apparently useless things gathered together in perfect harmony. What does a sane person do with an illuminated plastic model of the Vatican? Who would wish to be enveloped in a quilt showing chemical equations during an innocent afternoon nap? He smiled inwardly while searching the place for something to drink. Not to his surprise the piece of furniture that _seemed_ to contain a house bar was filled with various kinds of ring binders. He tried to close it again, but something was blocking the doors. Going down on his knees he retrieved a huge photo-album. Reluctantly he flipped it open.

‚_Pathetic, DuGrey'_ he thought. _‚Violating other peoples private sphere just because you are yearning to see how a perfect storybook life looks like.'_ For a moment he paused, struck by his inner lie. He didn't give a damn about other people's Kodak moments. The sole thing he was engrossed with was the prospect of getting a glimpse of Rory's carefree laughing face, an expression of utmost bliss written on it. An expression he was able to witness from the distance, but never when he was near her. An expression he didn't know he missed till now.

Since Westport she had tensed up, acting distant, paying him an incidental kind of attention that made him almost punch his fist in the wall every time their ways crossed. While exchanging meaningless polite phrases, all he wanted to do was catching her shoulder, shaking her body gently, revitalizing the sparkle in her eyes that used to be reserved for him. He knew, it was enflamed by annoyance alone, but he didn't care.

Steadily he worked himself through the pages, beginning with the most recently taken pictures.

Rory lying in the grass, her head resting on a giant lion's marble prawn, waving with a rugged tourist guide.

Rory leaning against a slightly older dark haired woman, both of them dressed up as ridiculous doubles of 1980ies soap-opera characters.

Rory and Paris trying to balance their Yale diplomas on their noses. He wondered how much arm-twisting the person behind the releaser had to apply to make Paris performing that particular stunt.

Rory in the arms of a tall, handsome guy, playing with his hair, smiling as if she hoped the world would stop turning right at this moment.

„Being a lawyer you probably know that we can sue you for that?" Paris head popped up next to Tristan's.

Slowly he closed the album. „I'm just catching up what I've missed." Irony was dripping from his voice.

„Put it back. Dinner is ready. I'll fill you in with the rest. Visual memories are overrated anyway."

He did what he was told. That's why he never saw the picture of him and Rory, her eyes intertwined with his, standing in the middle of Chilton's auditorium obviously arguing about something. It had been cut out of an old yearbook. If someone had asked her why she had given him a tiny space among the people and incidents she cared about, she would have brushed the question away with a single shrug of her shoulders.

„So, you're killing sweet, furry creatures to earn your living? Why am I not astonished to hear that, Gellar?" he said laughing, taking another piece of lasagne. The meal was far better than he had expected it to be after the chaos she had administered in the course of its production.

„And that from someone who sells the people a technicolor dream of prosperity, promising them heaven and earth if only they'd vote for your party while playing evil little tricks behind the scenes."

„Touché." The hurt look he gave her was very convincing. „You can't imagine me being the idealistic kind of guy? Working hard for the community, driven by his craving for a better world? That makes me sad."

„Hardly." she answered on her way to the fridge to fetch another bottle of water.

But in diametrical opposition to what she had just said out loud she was convinced that he would make a good politician. Maybe there was something in the way he talked about his job that let her to this assumption; maybe she sensed the sobriety under all his chaffing, the truthfulness behind his facade. She had observed him going through Rory's album, kneeing on the floor, his fingers hovering an inch above the picture's shiny surface. Paris had tried hard to define the emotions she had witnessed, but after all he was a lifespan ahead in concealing them.

„Are you ready for dessert?" she asked gleefully.

„You can count on that."

--------------------------------------------

„Dilettantes" Rory muttered sweet-tempered. Since her review about the ballet back in Yale she had become an indulgent audience. Whatever play she was forced to endure, whatever concert she attended - her comments were civil at least.

„That's all you have to say about this frightful event?" Ben looked at her with amazement. „You're far too good for this nasty world, Miss Gilmore."

The whole way home he had rambled on the preposterous staging, poor actors and lame dialogue, never losing the edge of his good-hearted humour. It was fun being with him. During the three weeks they had been seeing each other frequently she had noticed a warm sensation growing whenever he showed up. Walking through the quiet streets, Ben at her side she felt as if nothing could harm her anymore. She could sense the admiration in his words, the promise in his eyes. For once in her life she wanted to do the right thing. And Ben did a great job convincing her that he had at least the potential to be the right thing.

„Here we are," she said a little uneasy, stopping in front of her entrance door. „Wanna come in? Paris said something about having dinner with a guy. That means ..." giving him a little grin „no discussion about the International Monetary Fund tonight."

„What a pity," he replied a bit too hastily.

She gave him an inquiring glance, trying to detect if he had already accepted her invitation. Instead of an answer he pulled her near, placing a tender kiss on her mouth. Reluctantly he drew back only moments later, swiftly touching her blushed cheek, happiness all over his face.

„I take that as a yes," she smiled, praying her emotions choose to stay locked up somewhere in the core of her heart. But having reared them well she had faith that they'll behave.

Holding Bens hand tight, fearing the earth could swallow him right in front of her eyes just because she didn't knew what she was feeling, she entered her flat.

„Paris, it's not even ten o'clock. Why are you back? Told him about your job?"

Trailing Ben trough the hallway she slipped off her Mary Janes and got rid of her coat.

„Haven't you learned a thing from my mom?" she said accusingly and gave Paris a quick hug before stealing a chocolate brownie from the tray on the table.

The unexpected gesture of friendship made Paris eye her roommate suspiciously. „I doubt that ‚Tell them you're a French varieté dancer' plays in the league of good parental advises."

„You of all people should recognize a figure of speech. The general direction is still worth your consideration." Rory examined the brownie with a certain amount of respect. The polls stood 1:3 that it was self-made.

„Ben. Here to pick up our discussion about interest rate policy?" Paris waved him to the table. „He looks a bit lost, don't you think?"

„You're scary, Paris. Can't blame him," she mumbled. Her centre of attention became the piece of pastry melting in her mouth.

Seized by a spirit of adventure, still daydreaming how her lips had felt on his Ben placed his hands on Rory's shoulder. Cautious he started to massage the tensed muscles under her thin, maroon-coloured top.

„See, you could have that too, if you'd listened to Lorelai," Rory smiled and let her head fall against her companion's soft knitted sweater.

„Never give instructions you are not willing to comply with yourself, Mary." He had followed their appearance from the kitchen door, silently waiting for the right moment to announce his presence.

„What the hell ..." she lost her voice in midsentence, staring at Tristan, who dried a plate with her Baywatch dishtowel as it were the most natural thing to do.

He could have thought that she'll emerge sooner or later. Unconsciously he had wished she would come. Why wasn't he prepared to face her?

Maybe because another man's hands were stroking tenderly up and down her perfect neck. Maybe because he observed her eyes darken the moment she had seen him.

„I forgot to mention," Paris trailed off.

„You forgot to _mention_?" Rory gave her a death glance.

„What are you doing here? Haven't you some girls in town you can pester with your company?"

„If I'm not mistaken, it was you who told me to call on Paris sometimes," he flashed a diabolical smile. „Expected a deserted apartment tonight?"

„Judging from yourself?" she asked bittersweet.

„Just because your idea of a nice evening contains watching the late-night news doesn't mean that other people are doomed to die from boredom too." His controlled voice didn't rise one decibel.

„What an unfortunate existence you are if hooking up random woman is your sole way to entertain yourself." Memories of Tristan pressing his body against an interchangeable Chilton uniform-wearing bombshell, slipping his skillful hands under a dark blue blazer battled with reality.

Ben had long ago released his grip and taken a seat next to Paris. He looked like someone whose favourite pet had died right under his hands. Rory hadn't even noticed his retreat.

„Give it a try, Rory. I sense a strong need for _real_ relaxation," turning his head towards Ben. The subtext was all so clear. His condescending attitude, his refined patronizing manner was the surplus that came with the hopelessness of the situation.

Paris sensed something completely different, coming from the man at her side. The first signs of a major angry outburst. Comforting she laid her hand on his bouncing arm. „She'll take care of it. She always had. She may be a bit rusty, but some things you never forget," she whispered reassuring, bending slightly in Ben's direction. Somehow that didn't seem to calm him down.

‚_If only I'd knew. I could have sold tickets for the spectacle,'_ she thought fatalistic. _‚Where's the popcorn when you needed it?'_

Slowly Rory raised, approached him and took the plate from his hands.

„Get out of here, Tristan," she said wearily. „You bore me. Some people have real lives."

He inhaled sharply, searching for a sign, indicating that it may have been a joke, but failed.

Paris, jumping in a role she didn't appreciate at all, escorted Tristan whose features had turned into a chiseled mask of non-involvement across the living room.

„You'll win the race, buddy. But you won't win this game," she said handing him his belongings.

Remembering Ed Hagerty he gave her a forced smile. „Is there a sign on my back encouraging people to impersonate the oracle of Delphi whenever I'm around?"

„Maybe you've written the sign yourself. In a weak moment," she answered pushing him through the threshold.

After he was gone Ben released a breath he didn't knew he was holding. „Impressive," he admitted.

„I told you." Paris grinned.

The sound of running water announced Rory's absence. „I guess you better leave too. Fighting exhausts."

With the caring adroitness of a long served talk show host she manoeuvred Ben out of the apartment as well. The vodka she poured herself afterwards had never tasted better.

No words were uttered while she handed Rory her glass and let herself bump on the bathroom tiles, crossing her legs and her arms.

„I'm sorry. Thought there was a truce." Cold drops of water were running down her friend's expressionless face.

„It's not your fault."

„What's going on between you two?"

„He kissed me."

„Tristan kissed you?"

Rory squeezed the orange beak of her childhood rubber duck. „Ben kissed me." She let her chin fall hard on her knees. „It felt alarmingly wrong."

It had felt right the day Jess had come back, regret in his eyes, anger in hers. It had felt right so many years ago, sitting on a piano bench at Madeline's party.

Understanding slowly settled in Paris mind. Rory's problem wasn't that the nice man she had chosen to go out with lacked the ability to make her hands tremble and her lips crave for another encounter. Her problem was that every disavowal had an expiration date.

„Rory, you're not 16 anymore. Knights in shining armours are an endangered species, virtually extinct in the wild." Her friend managed a defeated glance. „Perfection is a term solely appropriate for Greek sculptures – shapely buttocks, noses to die for," a slightly salacious smile crept over her face. „Admittedly they lost some of their grace after the second Peloponnesian War. Don't know why, must have something to do with the rise of Asia Minor's influence. Although that had always been a questionable theory."

„Paris," Rory threw the rubber duck in her roommate's direction. „Is that your idea of helping a friend in need?"

„Hey, every good advise needs a solid groundwork. People are _not_ perfect. Even though you try hard to be the annoying exception that proves the rule. Love is _not_ perfect. _He_ is not perfect." Rory knew instantly to whom Paris referred. „Let's assume someone is a fantasy of yours – a purely hypothetical approach of mine. Having the reputation and the appropriate experience I know exactly how to get rid of fantasies. Make them become reality and they'll vanish like Sookie's lemonade on a hot summers day."

Favorably impressed Rory sat up from her crouched position. „I told you, Paris. Never mess with psychology, nothing good will ever come from it," she said, trying to hide her amazement.

„Choose to forget what I told you, but closing your eyes for the next two months is not the most reasonable way to deal with … whatever lurks on your mind." deliberately Paris placed the plastic toy next to their frog-shaped soap dispenser and left Rory to her thoughts.

TBC …

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(Thunder and lightning. Enter three Witches)

**First Witch**_: When shall we three meet again? / In thunder, lightning, or in rain?_

_**Second Witch: **When the hurlyburly's done, / When the battle's lost and won. _

_**Third Witch: **That will be ere the set of sun._

_**First Witch: **Where the place?_

_**Second Witch**: Upon the heath._

_**Third Witch: **There to meet with Macbeth._

_**First Witch: **I come, Graymalkin!_

_**Second Witch: **Paddock calls._

_**Third Witch: **Anon._

_**ALL**: Fair is foul, and foul is fair: / Hover through the fog and filthy air. _

(Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 1)

That was the first play of Shakespeare I ever saw on stage and the three witches left a lasting mark. No wonder my mind linked them to Paris somehow. I love her character, sometimes even more than I love Tristan's. Whoever concedes having a crush on Neil Kinnock because of his cute British accent deserves the highest regards. ;)


	9. chapter 9

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB ...

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**chapter 9**

Ruggedly someone tackled Rory's back, making her stumble and almost knock down a track full of poorly xeroxed leaflets.

„Hey, calm down guys, that's neither a White House press conference nor Brad Pitt's second engagement party!" Her usual profession-related solidarity vanished with the stabbing pain at her left scapula the encounter had produced. No member of the camera team bothered to respond while they rushed by, the young reporter in a state of trance, mumbling, „Where is the bloody candidate again?" for the third time in a row.

Rory thanked her personal goddess of destiny once more that no wicked twist of fate had brought her to the television so far and turned another handwritten page of her scratchpad over.

The visit at the Hartford Community Centre had been scheduled from 2.00-3.00 p.m. and tightly organized - a few handshakes, reading a fairy tale of bearable length and decent content to Kindergarten kids whose mothers were working, ensuring some elderly ladies that their health coverage will be in good hands, tossing one ball in the basket, well-picked underprivileged teenagers lingering around the scene - just for the press.

It was 4.30 now and McMahon was playing basketball since 40 minutes. Catherine, on the edge of hysterics, shuffled appointments around as if she were trading top-grade oil stocks the day the OPEC announced a 50 percent output cut. She looked like a freak of nature, her ear adnated to her mobile, her shoulder crooked in an unhealthy angle to steady the phone.

„Does he do that often?" Rory asked in one of the rare communication breaks Catherine used immediately to send four of her assistants to run 12 different errands in a very short-spoken Napoleonic kind of way. Barely using words she would have made a great Baseball coach.

„Unconventional," she answered while handing Rory one of her muesli-bars. „That's the official wording. ‚He's a very unconventional political figure.' And a wearisome one too sometimes, let me add confidentially."

The humming sound of her mobile arose. Rory made a compassionate gesture before leaving her to sort out the turmoil McMahon's sudden urge for physical exercise had produced.

Through the muddy, heavy decorated panes of the high windows she observed the ongoing game. McMahon and Tristan had split up in different teams. Obviously the bunch of teenagers gave them a hard time. Rory brushed a psychedelic paper sunflower aside to get a full glimpse on the shady asphalted backyard.

The candidate had thrown his jacket on a nearby bench and rolled up his sleeves while Tristan had gotten rid of his tailored chemise and played in a tight white cotton undershirt. Little trails of sweat were running down his temple, his short hair was is a state of utter disarray. He didn't just pretend to be part of his team, fulfilling half-heartedly what was expected from a dynamic young associate. He fought hard, moving his lean body with ease around the ground.

‚_Great_,' Rory thought, pictures of his muscular frame floating through her mind, envisioning some words her next article should definitely _not_ include.

She had never seen him so relaxed before, all tension vanished from his features, all of his covers fallen. Smiling happily he high-fived with a girl of about 14, wearing an oversized LA Lakers shirt and tight pigtails, who had plunged the ball after he had passed it felicitously. She eyed the elder blonde approvingly before lining up in one of these formations totally alien to Rory whose ball-game knowledge didn't extend watching _Space Jam_ and having been the proud owner of Air Jordan's in 3rd grade.

Ten minutes later an exhausted bunch of kids flounced into the room, gathering around the two old vending machines, counting coins and trading sodas.

„How did they keep up?" Rory asked the 12-year old who had given her an extended tour around the centre after she had arrived.

„OK I guess. For people wearing ties," he answered grinning, feeling totally in charge of the situation.

She lowered her voice, pretending to exchange secret information, but still being loud enough that everybody could actually hear their conversation. „It's very noble of you guys, that you let them score some points. Mercy is the virtue of the kings," she whispered.

The boy, fully aware that the whole room was listening smirked knowingly. „They didn't seem as if they had many other joys in life."

Rory winked conspiratorially. „And they may have a job for you in 6 years time. But actually you look more like someone who prefers honest work."

Amused Tristan and McMahon had followed their public humiliation.

„That's a hell of a woman," the candidate uttered in his younger companion's direction.

„And she has always been," Tristan said quietly observing Rory, still carefree joking with the boy, sitting on a desk in indian style. The straight neckline of her black sweater had slipped down her left shoulder, uncovering one strap of her tank top and her alabaster collarbone. She seemed to glow.

„I'm heading home, take a shower, lick my wounds. See you at 7.00. What is it tonight? The _Connecticut Association of Fly Fisherman_?" The prospect of Rory probably being there as well made even the image of grumpy old man, clad in rubber-boots, rambling about water pollution control a bearable vision.

„Close enough. The _League of Conservation Voters_," McMahon sighed, quaking slightly under Catherine's reproachful look.

While collecting his shattered wardrobe pieces Tristan's gaze was still fixed on Rory, hoping for a miracle of physics that made her sense his stare on her skin, causing her to look up and acknowledge his presence. But the rules of natural science decided to stay intact.

----------------

„Rory, do you have a minute?" Catherine caught up with her right in time before the bus arrived to take her home.

„Sure." She turned around, trying to orientate in the unknown neighbourhood. No sign of a coffee shop. ‚_Frightening_' she thought. „Should we go back inside?"

„No, they had probably enough unwanted attention for the next two legislative periods."

„But if they _could_, the kids would vote for you." Rory added smiling.

„Extremely soothing. Hope the governor, whom McMahon should have met while he was occupied with regressing into a little boy sees that in a related rose-coloured manner."

„What do you want to talk about? Is something wrong?" she asked slightly timid, inwardly fearing that her articles had been a bit too discerning for their likes. Over the weeks she had discovered how much she had actually grown fond of the job. It required a different writing style, a different way to treat people, a different way of observing. The nuances were richer, the stories more spirited.

Of course there was Tristan, annoyingly close, testing her self-control, guarding her thoughts on strange paths now and than. But she was old enough to see him for what he was, not allowing to let him get to her.

„No, good heavens! Everything's perfect. You wouldn't suspect us of censorship, would you? Freedom of the press - the forth pillar of democracy. You made yourself quite a handful of devoted fans within our team."

Rory relaxed and in a spontaneous wave of joy linked her arm with Catherine's. „Let's walk."

„McMahon plans to go overseas for a couple of days. A few major contributions for our campaign came from businessmen living abroad. And with money comes the obligation to attend some formal dinner parties, some informal back room meetings and some social activities under the autumnal European sky." Her voice became slightly dry. Rory could tell that she wasn't pleased by the fact that the race's leading man had the chance to break away during the hot phase, leaving her behind to cover up for him. „There are truly more objectionable scenarios than dancing with some CEO's wife in a glamorous _cabaret parisiene_. We thought you would like to accompany him."

„Huh?" Rory was speechless. „Why?"

„Besides being good material for a nice piece, Ben mentioned that you're in fact a foreign correspondent. It may be interesting for you. And - as a special feature we could provide you with - McMahon's French is dreadful. Offering your assistance could earn you a lifelong exemption of communal taxes," she explained in the earnest voice possible.

„My editor wouldn't pay for it." Rory said defiantly.

„Why don't you just give him a call? Three days London, two days Paris are worth the try."

The second Catherine had closed the door of the cab Rory pushed the speed dial of her phone, waiting impatiently for her boss's sulky opening lines.

„Kiddo, thought they got rid of you, put you in concrete boots and plunged you on the bottom of some rotten lake."

„My articles aren't that bad."

„Wrong approach. Your articles are that good," he mumbled with the most ungrudging display of praise she had ever heard from him.

„You don't have to waste your energy with flattering, Morty. I like the job. I won't bail out."

„Give credit to whom credit is due," he said theatrically.

The moment could not have been better. „Have I ever asked you for a favour?" Her voice was questioning but steady.

„I fear the worst. You make them famous and they forget the meaning of the word ‚_modesty_'" Rory could hear him pouring a glass of whiskey. Maybe she just knew, being experienced with his company. „Actually you have. Remember the interview with Bishop Desmond Tutu you wanted to make? And your own workspace with a view on our lovely Japanese cherry tree? And the VIP hockey tickets for that strange, plaid-wearing friend of yours? And ..."

„I got the point." Lacking another strategy she just spilled out the news.

„Fine, fine. Go, but don't wear your nose too high for us normal mortals when you're back."

Rory gulped, searching for the hidden hitch of his surrender without a struggle. She couldn't detect one.

„There is a little patisserie in the Rue Lemercier. They sell those tiny marvels made of pistachios, Swiss chocolate and the beaten white of eggs. If I don't see at least a dozen waiting on my desk next Monday morning, fresh I have to insist, you're fired," he uttered before interrupting the connection.

-----------------------------------

„Very unconvincingly," Lorelai muttered while cramming another orange marshmellow in her mouth. She shared a woollen cover with her daughter; both had their feet on the low table in front of the TV and their hands in a big bowl of randomly assembled sweets. Since one hour they were watching a Danish independent film about a 19th century lunatic asylum. Strangely enough time refused to flow in a normal pace.

„How come I never hear you say things like that when we talk about _Terminator 3_?" Rory shot her a scrutinizing look.

„Hm. Better special effects?" her mother offered.

„You're a lost cause."

„And you're no fun at all since we sent you away to Yale." Lorelai whined. „Honestly. I bet not even the actors have seen that film as a whole." With that she turned the DVD player off and altered her position to face Rory.

Her eyes were glowing impishly. „Now, tell me everything. How's the dating front doing?"

„I have a fulfilling and complex job. Shouldn't that be the first thing coming to your mind? Sanity and reason would stipulate that kind of scenario."

„When exactly did that alien existence gained control over your body and turned you into my mother?"

With a dull thud one of the Gilmore's pillows landed on Lorelai's face. „That's better. Fight it. You're stronger than that green, slimy, aeh ... thing inside of you, my dear daughter," she said laughing, gasping for air, waving her hands aimlessly around.

Rory surrendered. „Why are you asking?"

„Don't know. Something is different." Lorelai squeezed the cushion under her arms and crimpled her nose.

„My alien symbiont?"

„Besides that little fellow. I sense ..." she closed her eyes, touching Rory's forehead pretending to connect with higher powers „... expectations and tension and desire."

„That's lame, mom. You try that every time you see me, in slightly different variations, hoping it will fit one day and catch me in surprise."

Lorelai shrugged her shoulders innocently. „Luke, reaching for the world of spirits has left a disagreeable dehydrated feeling," she yelled dramatically.

„_Water_, not coffee," was the only response coming from the kitchen.

„I'm going to Europe," Rory said in the silence that followed Luke's brave act of stableness.

„What? Why? When?" Lorelai had instantly forgotten all the evil little episodes of vengeance she had envisioned for her husband.

„Today," Rory stated calmly, answering the last question.

„Why haven't you told us sooner?"

„You haven't seemed to be particularly interested in my work," she said, slowly opening a golden wrapped candy while savouring her triumph.

„Ha, waited to say that line the whole afternoon?" her mother gnarled.

„Could be. I've learned from the best."

„Pleeeeease. Take me with you, take me with you." Lorelai, who had gotten off the couch to fetch some coffee herself, bounced wildly up and down in front of Rory, her sing-sang voice spreading through the living room.

Luke cleared his throat.

„Take _us_ with you, take _us_ with you," she repeated grinning.

„I have to be at the airport in two hours. That's estimably the amount of time you need to decide which one of your fourteen pink tops to bring along."

„True. You won. I'll drive you. It seems that more cosmopolitan air I'm not granted to breath today. Unlike my daughter." She sniffed noticeable.

One and a half hours later they headed through the airport's monumental glass and concrete halls when Rory's mobile rang.

„Rory," Catherine's voice seemed a little strained. „Sudden change of plans. That bastard Conelli has rescheduled the date of the big TV duel on short notice. The day after tomorrow. Can you imagine a similar affront? Had never happened before. But he's the guy with the media connections." Rory frowned, listening to Catherine's jolty staccato. „McMahon can't come."

‚_Of course'_ she thought sighing ‚_would have been too nice to be true._'

They were still on their way to the British Airways counter, Lorelai one step ahead. Rory let her eyes wander around the cold architecture, reading the signs indicating delays and departures, watching the women in their business costumes, the families with their Disneyland paraphernalia. How she had wanted to get away, just for a few days.

„Rory, can you hear me?" Catherine asked concerned.

„Yeah, go on."

„We decided not to cancel the trip."

He was standing in the middle of the hall, the _New York Times_ in one hand, a cup of take-away coffee in the other. Out of hundreds of people in that crowded building her gaze had found him.

„We just send someone else."

„Tristan," Rory whispered.

„Have a safe trip," Catherine chirped, happy that everything was finally settled and hung up.

She grabbed her mother's arm, thankful that she wasn't alone and approached the male figure.

Lorelai's eyes widened. „Could it be that you left out some tiny details concerning your work?"

Rory gave her a gentle knock in her ribs. „For example that your Senator to-be looks more like the James Bond to-be they are all searching for since Pierce Brosnan's wrinkles became a fact not even the most well-meaning fans could ignore any longer?" They were already in hearing distance. Rory's thankfulness wore off.

„Miss Gilmore. Are you planning to embellish our journey with your company?" Tristan said smiling while taking Lorelai's hand.

„My dictator-daughter came up with fancy arguments preventing that. We should have never let my parents pay for the college. How do you know me?" she asked examining the young man's face.

He had seen her the day he had left Chilton, the day of the Shakespeare performance he never had the chance to play. The day of the kiss he had never gotten.

„The family resemblance is nothing to overlook easily," he explained quickly. „Tristan DuGrey."

„Lorelai. Miss Gilmore would be wrong anyway." His name sounded vaguely familiar. Deep down under layers of useless memory fragments something must be laying.

Without a word he handed her the coffee. She gave him a questioning gaze.

„Your eyes were fixed on the Starbucks logo since you stopped pondering if there is a chance I may be a maniac, capable of kidnapping your daughter and sell her to a Russian mafia boss. I hope I can draw the conclusion from that unconventional behaviour that I'm considered harmless."

Lorelai laughed, taking a sip from the dark liquid. „Guys, my husband has probably manifold problems holding the dinner warm and your flight leaves in half an hour. Greet Paris from me." she stayed quiet for a second. „Wow, first time I use that phrase with the actual intended meaning."

She gave Rory a tight hug and Tristan a bright smile before she trailed to the exit. Walking away she thought about the look the young man had given her daughter and Rory's nervousness as soon as she had spotted him. Maybe she should ask her more often about work in the future.

In the line in front of the check-in counter two people were standing in silence, clinging to their passports the tension of unresolved business surrounding them.

TBC …

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Finally the time of some decent Tristan-Rory interaction has come. I thank all the people who held out and stayed long enough with the story to come to that point ;)


	10. chapter 10

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB …

again – I loved the reviews, they make me happier than you can imagine.

**chapter 10**

She had always liked the little shift of gravitation, the feeling of being carried to a place where people don't belong naturally. Absentmindedly Rory turned another page, but from the corner of her eyes she watched the orange gleam of the sunset crawling over the clouds beneath.

With ostentation she had buried her nose in a book right after they had entered the plane and not looked up once.

„Dorothea is going to give up position and fortune just to marry stupid Will Ladislaw, let her dreams go to hell in a handbasket and becomes a pitiful existence, absorbed in supporting her husband's fight for the Reform Bill," he said casually while undoing his seatbelt to snuggle in a more comfortable position. „Pretty much the most insane decision she could have made."

She closed the heavy paperback and let it slip into her leather bag. „Clever DuGrey. Nice try. But you couldn't have honestly thought that I have never read _‚Middlemarch'_ before?"

„Just wanted to impress," he uttered, his smirk ridiculing the statement, while handing her the tray of food he had received from the flight attendant a moment ago.

The young woman, whose angelic features seemed to be reserved for the business class travellers alone, bended slightly down, showing him a special kind of friendliness that exceeded the usual requirements of the job by a mile. „Can I do anything else for you, sir?"

„I'll let you know, Patricia, if that is the case." All of a sudden Tristan's voice had become smooth, the faint suggestion of allurement vibrating in every vacuous word.

Rory snorted. „Why don't you just stand up, leave your salmon carpaccio to me and find you both a lavatory that is not occupied?" she hissed. „That would provide us with mutual benefits."

Slowly he turned towards her, pretending to be absorbed in profound thoughts. „I guess I'll need the nutrition first. But the rest of your proposal sounds familiar."

On guard she observed his face until he burst out into a throaty laughter. „Rory, stop it. I'm not in a constant state of sexual alertness. No matter what you are thinking about me."

„I'm not thinking at all." _'Darn it!'_ That was not what she had intended to say.

„I had that impression before, too," he grinned. „Look, we need a communication topic besides your obsession with my love-life to put our relationship on another level." The joy he felt mocking her ceased when he saw her stiffen.

„Our relationship is fine like it is. Nonexistent." Out of pure frustration she had started an in-depth examination of her meal. Hesitantly she removed the plastic cover from her fruit salad and wondered why _he_ had gotten a moon-shaped chocolate pie instead.

Tristan who had traced her longing gaze down to his still untouched dessert placed it on top of her tray as if it were only the disguise of a thousand dollars worth in chips. „Care to bargain?" His poker face was impenetrable.

„No. Probably I wouldn't be able to afford it." A tentative smile crept around her mouth.

„There are a few offers I would accept without a second thought," he answered, perfectly aware that every word he uttered had it's share to let her solemn dislike grow.

She didn't need to know the _‚Art of War'_ by heart to realize that this was the situation to finally prove that offence is the best defence no matter if you had to deal with some gloomy samurais gone rogue or with the intricate man sitting next to her.

Quickly she retrieved her scratch book from the bag and handed it over. „Write down what you want. Try me."

He knitted his brows. Obviously she had adjusted to his immature behaviour quite effortlessly. The hesitation he displayed was genuine.

Sensing him falter made her less content than she had believed it would. It added a depth to the situation she didn't approve at all. „Your whole life seems to be a sequence of little deals. You're trading everything, everything is negotiable. And – admittedly - you master it with ease, otherwise you wouldn't be where you are now." She sounded distant, like a scientist lecturing about a rare species of insects. „I'm a serious negotiating party. Why, I ask myself is this piece of paper still blank?"

Tristan didn't know. Easily he could have challenged her. But somehow he felt the urge for a decision he was not willing to make. The decision of being honest.

With slow and precise movements he raided his jacket for a pen, trying to borrow time, trying to suppress the feelings her words had aroused.

„Rory, that's ridiculous."

„Forgive me if I can't take this line serious - coming from you."

He sighed and scribbled something down. Cautious he gave her the little leather-bound item back. Rory's eyes wandered over his casual handwriting, not the least astonished.

‚_You were right. You wouldn't be able to afford it_.'

„I prefer to regard this as an act of cowardice rather than being compelled to accept that you lack confidence in my ability to respond to your claim," she said smiling while ripping out the page and tucking it away in her back pocket.

-

Like intruders from another time the perfectly white cubic designer couches squatted in front of the ebony panelled walls. Soft, diffusive luminosity, its origin well covered, floated through the room, shedding light on the deliberately chosen paintings above eye-level. Some lucky jobless art historian must have spent a lot of time to adjust them in a pleasing rhythm of abundance and inaneness.

„Humble," Rory mumbled sarcastically, trying to catch up with Tristan. „You guys spared no efforts to make the candidate's little stopover a pleasant one."

Tristan glanced over his shoulder. „Last chance to back out and take the next best filthy bed and breakfast pension you stumble over. Otherwise I advise you to stop talking and start savouring. Is this a concept you are familiar with? Or do I have to enact a demonstration first?"

She rolled her eyes and let her baggage slip on the marble floor in front of the reception desk.

„Mister DuGrey. We didn't expect you back so soon." With a subtle gesture a distinguished grey-haired employee had ordered his younger co-worker to step aside as soon as he had spotted their arrival. „I'm incredibly sorry, but your reservation must have suffered the doom of the Labour Party's leadership. It got lost."

„Am I the only one who knows the true promise of your Monty Python-esque sense of humour, or have you already made it in the tourist guides?" Tristan joked affectionately.

„They pay me to spread my wit democratically."

„I thought so, Geoffrey. Our reservation is registered in Mr. McMahon's name."

„There it is. George IV suite," he said relieved and shoveled the silvery key card over the granite surface of the desk. Discreetly he eyed Rory. „Excellent choice, as always."

Tristan waited in stoic silence, for once oblivious to all innuendos, an encouraging look directed at the man.

„Yes, sir?"

„We had two rooms booked."

„I'm afraid, no." The desperate expression came crawling back.

Tristan cursed Catherine inwardly for her especially wicked kind of slackness. As if it needed anything else for Rory to head straight back to the airport. „Judging from your behaviour you haven't got any free rooms left?"

„IOC meeting tomorrow," Geoffrey asserted nodding. „Let me make a few calls, although I doubt your luck."

Rory's back hurt, she could commit a capital crime for a shower and the prospect of manoeuvring through the London night, searching for a free hotel room without at least half a pizza to regain her strength was a more than uncomfortable one.

Sighing she grabbed the card. „I'm sure George IV is going to provide us with enough space for tonight," she said noncommittally and left a puzzled Tristan to follow her steps to the elevator.

-

Standing in the bathroom, water running down his tensed muscles Tristan smiled. He had decided to circumvent putting her spontaneous action on record, fearing one single word would provoke her to rethink the decision she had made.

As he stepped out, fully dressed again, he faced Rory sitting on top the huge bed, mobile pressed against her ear. A precipitant „I'll call you later, mom," was all he was granted to witness. She had changed into turquoise flannel pants and a t-shirt announcing ‚mind the gap' in front of the London subway map.

„You retained to your theme-clothing," he stated the obvious.

She glanced down her top. „Could come handy if you forget the destination of your journey after an alcohol-filled night out."

„The wild side you are so desperately hiding assumes finally shape," he teased, taking a seat in one of the impressive leather chairs. Not knowing where to look, if not on Rory's slender form, he let his fingers run through his wet hair.

Uneasily she chewed on her bottom lip. „This is an awkward situation. I propose we make the best out of it." He wondered what that could be. „Let's fetch something to eat," she said determined.

„There is an invention called room service. Widely known in civilized societies. Should I introduce it to you?"

„You don't believe I'll settle for hotel cuisine in the country every corner shop could potentially offer the best Indian food available in the Western hemisphere? Spoiled philistine," she deadpanned.

He watched her slip into plain suede boots and throw her knee-length salt'n'pepper tweed coat over her shoulders.

„You sure, that you want to stick to this charming Bridget Jones routine?" he asked, examining her picked-up choice of clothes.

„Uncomfortable with my outfit? I'm confident your reputation won't be ruined that easily."

As a matter of fact he wasn't. Every time he allowed himself to look at her longer than mere seconds the poignant revelation unfolded, that she was the most special woman he had ever met. He couldn't care less what she was wearing.

Rory was already waiting at the door, impatiently playing with her knitted scarf. „Come on, my stomach starts to develop a life of it's own."

-

One and a half hours later they were back, heavily laden with a fine assemblage of thin plastic bags, carrying a foreboding smell of curry and lime.

„If you hadn't been so stubborn to insist on exploring a more authentic quarter, we wouldn't have had to search for an ATM to buy a subway ticket back to the hotel and…" he prepared for the great closing line, „the chicken masala would be still warm."

„On the other hand you wouldn't have become a life-long member of Fitzpatrick's Video Heaven, we would be short on beer and you would have never been mistaken for Prince William. A once in a lifetime experience I dare say."

„Obviously a visually impaired old lady," he averred, sophisticatedly faking a British accent.

„Obviously. Must have been the custom-made suit."

„Yeah the suit. Has opened many doors before," his voice faded. It became irrelevant to him what they were talking about as long as her words reached his mind and made something he thought he had lost long ago tingle inside. He stood in the middle of the room, his eyes downcast, nearly unnoticeably pacing forth and back.

„You're the one holding the food. I suggest you act according to that privilege," she said simply. „And don't dare to put the beer in the fridge. If the beverage you're drinking isn't warm, you've never _really_ arrived in England."

She didn't want to think about the fact that being in Tristan's company let her elaborately built image of social relations stumble. Foremost he meant alertness and strain to cope with, but right now she was encouraging him to sit beside her, watch a movie and drink awful English beer. It was bizarre beyond explanation.

She vowed to start acting on common sense tomorrow morning, well rested and clear-minded.

Handing her a lukewarm bottle he sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. „You're working bloody hard for the local colour. Should I go and fetch my Beefeater hat?"

She had resumed her place on the bed and was thoughtfully going through the DVD's they rented. „There is a character feature known as curiosity. It requires acceptance of diversity, a certain amount of modesty and self-reflexion. You may have never made acquaintance with it."

„I'm curious," he defended himself laughing. „I desperately wanted to know what was stored in the ominous safe of Bowman's dad."

„And look were your concept of this noble trait had brought you."

Lazily he stretched his feet and fetched a lobster chip out of its carton packing. „Away from the security and warmth of my loving family, my loyal friends and all the people who cared so much during my Chilton days. What a heart ripping drama," he said coolly.

For a second she had to suppress the crazy impulse to comfort him, sharing her warmth, wrapping him in a gentle embrace. „Drowning in self-pity, aren't we? Must have been a tough life, never knowing which car to pick - the silver BMW, elegant, but maybe a touch too much on the conservative side or the Porsche convertible, vibrant enough, but heck, what if you'll need a second passenger's seat? Never knowing which girl to kiss - the fun-loving blonde, great legs, but tends to be slightly over-affectionate or the smart red-head, gotten a marvellous nose job last year, but a whiff too much into her cheerleader career." Confused that she had almost touched him, she had talked herself in a state of enragement. Rory prayed that all she was suffering from was a case of temporary charity-complex.

„Your memories concerning myself appear to be quite vivid. Something you wanna tell me, Mary?" The coldness was still present in his voice.

„I'm incredible sorry if I haven't made myself clear enough nine years ago," she answered, composed again.

Tristan let his palm run over his forehead. „Ladies and Gentlemen, time for the movie," he announced as if he were the fed up director of a third-class dog and pony show.

„Thank god," Rory mumbled, tossing the DVD's on the floor. „Choose one, I don't care."

„Could it be that your generosity stems from the fact that you were the one who picked them in the store?"

„Not all of them."

„That's true," he said, the hint of a smile crawling over his face. Elegantly he rose to insert his choice.

„´_Before Sunset_. Funny." She must have overlooked it before. „Something _you_ wanna tell me?"

„Always digged the French girl."

„I can tell."

„And I thought you're most likely in love with the ‚_Dead Poet's Society'_ guy since the age of 13."

„Very considerate of yours."

„At your service."

She reached next to her and passed him one of the enormous cushions. „No film should be endured without a proper seating accommodation. Not even this one." A brief moment their eyes met until he tore away, tucking the soft monstrosity behind his back.

They watched the first 30 minutes in silence, trying to mask the stiffness with occasional exchanges of greasy food bins and an unreasonable amount of little sips from their beers.

Her laughter was light, fleetingly it lingered in the vast suite. „That's not genuinely an exhilarating movie," he muttered remotely confused, fixing the screen.

„Throw into the equation that it was your choice and look - suddenly it is."

If he were still smoking this would have been the moment to lit a cigarette. But he had stopped long ago. Carefully he folded his hands and awaited the things to come.

„You wanted to observe my reactions," she stated firmly. He could tell that she wasn't angry, but her bright blue eyes remained an unfathomable mystery to him.

„Maybe."

„Subtle." She gestured vaguely towards the TV. „I'll make it easy for you. I happen to like the fact that the miserable twentysomethings we are watching haven't seen each other in nine years and still they share a strange connection strong enough to survive such a long time. Nine years _there_, nine years _here_," her hands were flying back. „What a well orchestrated coincidence. But we have never been real friends let alone lovers. Not the best point of departure to receive a significant response from my side. Anything else you want to know?"

Slowly he shook his head.

She cleared her throat and after what seemed to be an eternity she spoke up again. „Believe me, you're nobody to forget easily. And if it were just for your peskiness. I give you credit on that." With her voice calm and truthful it sounded almost as a compliment.

„You are aware I could get the idea that you're providing me with a twisted kind of vindication?"

Simultaneously they took a draft from their beers to hide their smiles.

The next time Tristan dared to look at her was when the final credits appeared. Her head was slightly tilted, her eyes closed and her chest was peacefully swaying with every breath she took. Gently he tried to extricate the bottle from her firm grip, but combining the effort not to infiltrate her space too much with the required noiselessness and balance proved to be a task he wasn't up to. Stumbling he had to seek support in the bedhead to beware himself from falling.

Reluctantly her lids fluttered open.

„Hey," he said softly. „You didn't have to fall asleep to prove that I misjudged the explosive force of that movie."

Sleepiness still capturing her mind she was oblivious to his proximity. „They were mad about each other. Didn't need the finale to realize that," she groaned drowsily.

Retreating back he fetched the pillow from the floor, grabbed the cashmere plaid from the armchair and placed it on top of the couch. Rory observed his endeavours to prepare himself a place to sleep under half-opened lids. „You decided to end this evening of harmless teenage pleasures true to its motto?"

He paused undoing his bowtie. „Excuse me?"

„The couch is no doubt a ritzy copy of some famous Empire original, but unless your name is Lady Chatterly and you're currently posing for a lascivious portrait it is scarcely a piece of furniture to linger on longer than 10 minutes."

He gave her one of the uncomprehending glances that seemed to cumulate lately.

„The bed is huge, DuGrey and I am a big girl. Go change into your Calvin Klein pyjamas or whatever people like you are wearing and grant yourself a comfortable night."

Realization crept over his features. „You're asking me to sleep with you, Mary?" he grinned.

„Shut up," she mumbled while turning out the light.

TBC…

-

A/N: hope you liked the chapter. It was fun writing it.

and _Ashlee_ - you made my day. I even thought you mixed my story up with someone else's, your words were nearly too kind to believe. ;)


	11. chapter 11

**disclaimer**: all belongs to WB …

hr 

**chapter 11**

Tristan had woken up early, a remnant of his past he had gotten used to, a remnant of his past he actually liked. It were the quiet hours before sunrise that enabled him to let his thoughts wander around aimlessly, a freedom he denied himself otherwise.

Admittedly - the sleeping woman next to him made him feel quite focused, her quiet presence had captured him since he had opened his eyes. For minutes he laid motionless at her side, resting his head on his bended arm, his elbow nudged in the soft material of the bed. He had to draw his gaze away from Rory to painfully realize that the solid ground he had relied on for so long was starting to fade. He wasn't sure if he liked it. As a matter of fact he was quite positive that he didn't. Unwittingly she was taking something from him. Somehow he knew that he wasn't the one who could expect a substitute. Determined he sat up.

Remaining there any longer had suddenly become an idle illusion, the futile effort to prolong a moment purloined from reality.

With a concentration and rapidness he hadn't have to display since the tormenting morning roll calls during his North Carolina years he had made himself ready to leave the room.

hr 

A hushed groan escaped Rory's mouth. Somnolently she blinked a few times. In the twilight of the suite it took her some moments to adjust her eyes to the dimness. Someone must have drawn the curtains, just a small stripe of grey light fell on the floor. The first thing she perceived with clarity was a sheet of hotel stationary laying on the pillow she had expected a blonde's tousled head to rest. Convincing herself that this was by far the better sight she unfolded it. ‚_Leave your Manolo Blahniks in the trunk - dress warm and comfortable. I'm waiting downstairs. T._'

'_Curse my laziness'_ she thought while heading to the shower.

hr 

Niched behind a Queen Victoria bust sat Tristan and forced himself to enjoy the impressive view at the city out of the equally impressive Green Salon's windows. It didn't work out especially well. The rough aroma of Earl Grey and fresh grapefruit juice he was inhaling did a far better job in distracting him. He had already finished the _Guardian_ as well as the _Times_ and was inclined to doubt, that he could learn anything else of significance, whatever newspaper the anxious waiter was going to offer him next.

„Thanks for letting me sleep." She balanced a delicate cup of coffee in her hands and smiled with all the relaxation that came with the awareness that she had skilfully outsmarted a major jetlag.

He couldn't help but smile back. „You haven't incidentally snatched the coffee from Miss Rothschild's table?"

„I'm sorry to destroy your fixed view of my weird little world but I picked up the phone and ordered one."

„To carry it all the long way to the breakfast room. How reasonable."

She sat down next to him, never loosing her grip on the cup. „Believe me, otherwise you wouldn't particularly appreciate my company."

„Who says that I do now?"

The dazzled and slightly wounded look she shot him gave him a salacious kind of satisfaction. Miracles happen. Miss Gilmore cared.

To cover up her sudden amazement she skimmed over the outspread newspaper-headlines, but they didn't form a coherent meaning. Managing a noncommittal gesture she leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms.

„A gentleman from tip to toe," she said sarcastically. After examining him long enough to get an exhausting overall impression of his appearance she complimented herself inwardly for a more than fitting comment. He was wearing an olive green lined Army jacket over a worn out Princeton t-shirt. Well-meaning people would have described its colour as „blueish" - once. It looked like some castaway had used it as a sunshield for quite a long time. As a farsighted attempt to conceal the rough black leather boots he must have decided to pick a faded pair of jeans that clung menacingly low on his hips. She had to admit, stunning was the word she searched for. Suddenly his 2000-dollar suits became nothing but cheap disguises.

„_That_ was what you meant by ‚casual clothing'," she stated, faking biblical enlightment. „And you complained about my flannel pants?"

Standing up he took a last sip from his bitter tea. „I never really did," he answered honestly. „If you're going to join me, this would be the time to transform your breakfast scone into take-away food and catch your hat."

„What for?" It was a circumspective question. Their first meeting with the donors took place at 8.00 p.m., the day was long, at their disposal and waiting to be filled with sensible activities. Rory was not eager to let someone of questionable taste, not to mention questionable morals decide about her touristy amusement.

„A plead for trust would be forlorn, I guess." he grabbed the soft leather gloves from the table. „Is your aforementioned curiosity already wearing off?"

She had to pay him respect for a substantial argument. „You are not joining the IRA, are you?"

„O Jeez, is it that obvious? You were never supposed to find out. O'Leary is waiting outside with my faked passport. We had planned to abandon you at some deserted country lane down in Sussex. Not sure if I can convince him not to kill you right away after that lucky fluke of yours," he whispered grinning.

„Well then. It had been a pleasure knowing you." Strange how smooth this sentence came over her lips. Wiping out the affectionate smile from her face would be an appropriate action, she thought. „It's a tough job, or as my editor tends to say: Go for the story, but some day a bomb-bearing Irishman will be your doom," she added hastily to reduce the possible impact of her words. „As you are probably aware I had to alter his statement slightly to fit the circumstances."

„You are rambling," he smirked.

„Have I ever told you about our family disease?" she said gravely while following him to the reception desk.

„We made the car available, Sir." A key changed hands and Tristan headed to the exit. Taking one last deep breath she decided to capitulate. „This may better be good," she uttered defeated.

„Where are we going?" Rory let her fingers wander over the tasteful interior of an exceptionally well-maintained vintage Jaguar.

He was a good driver. The way he casually handled the car made her almost forget that he was also a very fast driver. „Out of town."

„Oh really?" They were heading through a sparsely populated London suburb. The sporadic lines of crouched houses thinned out with every mile they covered. „Would have never come up with that."

„Patience. Enjoy the ride. If not for my company then for the enchanting countryside." The fact that a semi-derelict industry complex rushed by did nothing to strengthen his point.

„What are you doing with a car a 12 hour flight away from home?" If he wasn't willing to reveal their destination she could as well have some other investigative fun.

„This is not my car."

„The hell it is." She wasn't quite sure why she knew, but she did anyway. She had spotted the CD's on top of the glove locker, the book on the backseat, the little irregularities that clouded its cold perfection. Far more important, she had observed him driving. He looked like he had reconnected with a part of him that had been left behind the last time he had gotten out of it. A part of him he had left behind the last time he went back to Hartford. Something was going on here.

Never tearing his gaze away from the road he reached behind him and handed her a silver thermos flask. „Second breakfast. Kind of," he explained flatly.

„If you're thinking the coffee is going to keep me occupied enough to stop questioning - you were wrong."

„I've done a lot. But I have never underestimated you." His voice was more than dry.

And he was right. He never had. The revelation that maybe she had underestimated him was vaguely painful.

She shovelled a random disc into the state of the art CD player. Since the vehicle was at least 30 years old, it must have been adjusted with hindsight. Nobody would have been able to detect the device at the first glance. It blended perfectly into the polished teak cowling. „Aren't you sometimes tired of all that?"

Effortlessly Tristan could think of a few things he was tired of. Watching her deny that whatever lingered between them, demanded attention for example. But if his reencounter with Rory Gilmore had taught him one thing it was caution.

„Tired of what?" he asked suspicious.

„Just that" She waved her hands around as if it were explanation enough. Being more precise was maybe expedient she thought, sensing his growing impatience. „The scent of money saturating every pore of every thing you possess."

„Uh, I see. Let me think about that for a second ... No." Giving her the answer she most likely expected had seemed to be a save choice. Why did it leave him ungratified than?

The distinct growling coming from her side of the car made him laugh despite his uncoordinated thoughts. „Doesn't your job demand from you to look behind the surface once in a while?"

„I try my best," she responded vaguely. „Just started my field survey."

„Than praise your luck for an research object like me."

hr 

Despite the not so promising initial signs he hadn't lied about the countryside. Ever since they took a turn to a smaller road she didn't cease to smile at the crooked willow-trees, the fields, unseasonable green, the hills, reaching out to the horizon. It was peaceful. Living in the city she sometimes forgot that wind could bear the scent of grass and the rustling sound of leaves, not just dust from the sidewalks and scattered street life-noises, hushed talks and howling sirens.

She had almost failed to notice that he had pulled into a driveway, guarded by two statues, eroded from the English weather, reclaimed by moss and grass. Not until the engine died, leaving nothing behind but a calm silence she woke out of her reverie.

„We'll walk the rest," he announced, already out of the car, opening the door for her.

Her gaze followed the broad gravel walk, lined with oaks, their branches nearly touching the slightly rising ground.

To describe the manor in the distance as impressive would have been a crucial understatement. It had nothing to do with size. It was it's sole presence, which left a lasting mark. How grey ivory covered stonework could appear inviting and excluding at the same time remained a mystery to Rory. Coming nearer she recognised the elegant white windows, the winter garden, the secluded little greenhouse and the wild yellow roses, nearly leave-less this time of the year.

„So you arranged an encounter with Emily Bronte. Astounding what money could buy." She hoped her voice didn't sound too agitated.

He just walked on, in a quick and steady pace, always making sure she didn't fall too much behind. She surrendered to his muteness and focused on the house, scenes of books she had read playing slow motion in her mind. A well-groomed aristocrat in a frock coat, breaking through the underwoods, taking a stiff bow in front of them wouldn't have surprised her at all. What happened instead was much more confusing.

Running down the path, anxiously trying not to stumble over his rubber-clad feet came a boy of about six. With the determination of the young he clutched a red plastic bucket in his outstretched hand. Judging from his assuring glances once in a while it carried precious load.

„Mom, he's back," he yelled happily, out of breath, covering the last inches that parted him from them. A second later Tristan was on his knees and caught the little whirlwind in a tight embrace. Falling back he pretended to be knocked over by the impact of the collision with the kid's small body and lifted him effortlessly in the air. During the whole procedure the boy didn't stop his giggling and squeezing, completely oblivious to the world outside.

„You've gained weight, mate," Tristan grinned while he dropped him off to solid ground.

The boy had intertwined his small hand with Tristan's larger one and looked up to the elder with a knowing smile. „I'm no baby-dinosaur, you know. Humans don't grow that fast," he lectured precociously.

„I remember times when you were dressed up as Ty-rex more than once. Maybe you have it in you."

A few moments the child pondered over the offered theory. „That was kids stuff."

„Well Mr. adult. I suggest we search for your mommy. Maybe she knows something about your genetic structure we don't." He picked him up once again and placed him securely on his shoulders. „Safe up there?"

„Uh. Hm. Yep."

Rory - suddenly embedded in a scene from a Disney-movie and not in _‚Pride and Prejudice_' as she had expected - frowned, but was still composed enough to think about the fact that ‚genetic structure' was a very special phrase to use while talking to a pre-school kid.

Tristan let out an anticipating „Hmm?" as his passenger tapped gently, but steadily against his temple. „Who's that?" the boy asked curiously pointing his head in Rory's direction.

‚_Good question,_" she thought. _‚Or even better – what am I doing here?"_

He gave her time to answer for herself and when she remained silent he turned and bended his knees to bring the kid's head on Rory's level. „Jan, meet Rory. A friend of mine."

Graciously, but all of a sudden a little timid he reached down to her. „Hi Rory." And after a short pause filled with the struggle to regain his balance and his wit, „You're beautiful."

Taken back by the unexpected words Rory managed a smile. „Thank you very much, Jan."

There was no doubt that Tristan enjoyed the exposition of her uncertainty. „Oh my, you're blushing because a 6-year old paid you a compliment, Mary. How pitiful. There are some states you probably could go to jail for that," he smirked. If he weren't carrying the kid she would have punched him for his barefaced improperness.

„Evidently she's not used to be in the company of well-groomed men," he explained to Jan.

Luckily for her the young woman, who was approaching them draw his attention away.

Every time she tucked a stain of her long strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear the light breeze destroyed her efforts as if the elements knew that she looked ravishing enough in her natural grace. Her features brightened as she caught sight of Tristan and like the boy before she hurried up to close the distance.

„Surprise," he said softly before stroking over the head she had buried in his chest.

„Indeed," she answered into the rough material of his Army jacket. „I read of people who are still using a phone to announce their visits."

„I'm different."

„So I heard." She had freed herself from his hug, but didn't break their connection entirely.

That was the moment Rory turned away. She felt like being dragged into something she didn't want to be a part of. She had no idea what crazy plan had misled him to bring her along. All she wanted was the numb feeling that crawled into her fingertips to go away.

Someone touched her arm gently. „I'm sorry. What must you think about us rude Britons. Gwyn Hilliard." With her bright, but calm voice she even sounded like a fairy-tale creature.

Looking into her intense and blithefully sparkling emerald-green eyes Rory realized that she'll going to like that woman, regardless how disturbingly perfect she appeared to be. „Rory Gilmore. It's nice to meet you."

Jan, who had endured the exchange of grown-up pleasantries phlegmatically decided to re-enter the conversation. „Mom, I found Henry near the house. All alone and ... shivering." He presented the little bucket he was still holding tight, despite of the many position changes he had run through the last couple of minutes.

„And Henry happens to be a ... snake?" Gwyn asked suspicious, knowing her child.

Reproachful he waved his find. „A frog. He needs his pond."

Tristan took the pot from Jan and eyed the amphibian interested. „Well then. Let's find him a warm, little, muddy domicile."

Gwyn dragged the white Pashima closer around her shoulders to shield her petite body from the chilly autumn wind. „It looks like we are on our own until the boys are back. I'll show you around Fenwick Manor, if you like," she suggested a bit helpless herself.

Rory nodded slowly, her gaze remaining on Tristan's retreating form, hoping to receive at least a minor sign, the starting point of an explanation. But all he did was smiling.

As he climbed over a low boxwood hedge the sun breached through the leaden clouds and floated over his features. Jen had wrapped his arms around the man's neck and bumped his chin on top of his short blonde hair.

And than she knew what had puzzled her since she had been forced to witness these oh so surreal events.

The boy had Tristan's ice-blue eyes.

TBC …

hr 

**A/N:** a bit pathetic, I know, BUT I wanted a cliffhanger for once in my life.

… I promise the banter is going to end – eventually.

… and tell me if there is something wrong with the story, help me to clarify my sneaking suspicion. ;-)


End file.
